Death's March - Provenance
by Frantastlc
Summary: Francis and Maxwell are two survivors who found themselves in a hostile and unfamiliar land. Outmatched and unprepared, they push through the obstacles in hopes of finding a safe haven or an explanation as to how they got there. The land of Thedas is far from what it used to be and despite the overwhelming danger bearing down on them, their main concern appears to be mutual trust.
1. Chapter 1 - Kicked From The Nest

Hello everyone and welcome to my own take at a story located in the Dragon Age universe. I would just like to mention that this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction of any kind so any and all advice is more than welcome. Whether it is praise or criticism, I would very much like to hear the reader's take on my little world withing Dragon Age.

First, I would like to clear up some possible confusion that might arise as you, the reader, delve deeper into the story. While the story is set in the Dragon Age universe, it isn't set in any particular timeline which took place in the original games. In fact, it is my own take on a world created by events taking place well after the Inquisition storyline ended. I won't spoil the story with the details here but suffice to say that old videogame characters will be referred to only in passing for the most part, as an omage to the game's legacy. Most of the main characters do not belong in said universe but appear to have been thrust in by unknown means and the story follows their struggle to make their way in this strange, new world. My writing has been greatly influenced by numerous other fantasy novels, videogames and series so do not be surprised if there are certain segments within the story that remind you of something you may have seen, read or played.

Again, I urge you to let me know if there are parts of the story that aren't clear enough or need to be tweaked as I am still developing and changing the story as I write. Now, without further ado, let's dive into the story. Enjoy!

Pain.

Darkness enveloped him, his lungs struggled to draw air in and his extremities felt numb and cold. Coherent thoughts seemed to take ages to form in his mind but the pain was always there, a sobering reminder that he was alive; a reminder that hinted at something being terribly, terribly wrong.

"Move! Move, damn you!" He thought to himself, as if to force his muscles to obey through sheer willpower but there was no response. Only darkness, only pain. He took a deep breath to refocus himself and try to remember what had happened, but nothing came to him. It was as if he couldn't conjure up a single image in his mind, not of what had transpired and certainly not of what was going on around him now.

Then he felt it, his surroundings, the weight on top of him, the pain in his left shoulder, even the smell surrounding him. It was… rotten, but not the smell of food gone bad or trash left out in the sun for too long; it was something different.

His senses seemed to be returning to him slowly, as he could now see faint glimmers of light protruding from small openings around him. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, his mind raced and his claustrophobia began kicking in, panic slowly gaining control over his motor skills. His arms sprang into action and began pushing the metallic object directly on top of him. It had a solid weight to it but soon it gave way, causing him to wince in pain as the metal piercing his shoulder seemed to be attached to the object. With a loud grunt he pushed the metal to the side and clawed his way out, overcome by panic caused by extremely close quarters and a lack of oxygen. Then he looked around and his panic faded.

Bodies were strewn about, some mutilated, dismembered or even utterly unrecognizable. He realized he was standing close to the top of a small heap of bodies and tripped in his haste while trying to get off it, onto solid ground. The fall wasn't big, only a few feet so he quickly stood up, very much intent on fleeing this place, whatever it was.

"Where in the name of _fuck_ are you Francis?" He mumbled to himself while surveying his surroundings. Francis! That was his name! "Shit, I must have a solid lump on my head if I'm having trouble recalling my own goddamn name." He appeared to be in a forested area, and small fires burned weakly around him, despite the ground being rather damp. Was it from the rain or… blood? All of his instincts were telling him to run, to flee and never look back.

The silence was deafening. Nothing but the soft crackle of nearby fires could be heard and it was more than a little unnerving. He looked down and separated his black N7 shirt, a remnant of his gamer days, and inspected at his injury. It seemed to be a few inches deep, certainly deep enough to warrant concern and yet, only a shallow trickle of blood oozed from it. No matter, he would worry about his injuries later; now was the time to get the hell outa dodge.

Despite his instincts screaming at him to run as fast as he could, he crept around slowly, not willing to draw the attention of whoever or whatever was responsible for that mound of bodies. It may have been a trick of his panicked mind but for a fraction of a second, he thought he heard sounds of struggle around him. Before he could check it out, he caught a figure rising from a hunched position several yards away from him. The figure seemed to gaze directly at him now, it looked… strange. Its limbs were long and lanky and even though it could pass for a human, he had a sneaky suspicion that may not be the case.

Fire burned directly behind the figure and its blaze seemed to obscure its facial features but despite its present passive stance, Francis slowly turned to start running the other way. In an instant the creature was upon him, barreling into his side with tremendous force that knocked the wind out of him. Light shone into his eyes briefly as metal slashed through the air and he caught the creature's hand in the last moment. The creature was strong, not the explosive type of strength he had felt during his few years of martial arts training, but the strength wrought from a life of hard physical labor. Out of reflex he wrapped his legs around the creature's waist and straightened his abdomen to push it away, all the while keeping the knife hand away from him. He was far from a great grappler but he knew enough to best this thing, despite it being armed. Flipping this thing onto its back proved to be simpler than Francis had anticipated and soon he had it on the defensive, pushing the serrated knife in its hands, back towards its heaving chest. Fire illuminated its face now; it could have been human once but those days were long gone. The creature began screaming in anger and soon after, in terror, as it realized it was losing this battle. When the knife finally pierced its skin it let out a wild, high pitched howl before its limbs relaxed and fell to the sides, lifeless. That is when all hell broke loose.

Equal howls erupted from all sides, as if to respond to the dying call of the fallen creature. He wasn't wrong when he thought he had heard rustling and grunts before, as human screams filled the air alongside the inhuman howls. Unwilling to waste any more time, he snatched the knife out of the creature's cramped hands and began running. There seemed to be a battle taking place as he heard the clang of metal on metal mixed in with the howls of agony and death. He couldn't see the battle, only silhouettes of armed individuals or groups clashing against each other. There was no order, no formations, just pure chaos, and so he ran on.

Francis did his best to avoid any major point of conflict; he was no warrior after all. He felt more like a lost lamb headed for slaughter than a skilled fighter. His head was pounding, his mind working overtime to make sense of what was going on around him, all the while his body was being pumped full of adrenaline to speed him along and dull the pain of his injury. After sprinting around a large tree, he barreled into two more creatures, knocking one to the ground and stumbling awkwardly from the unexpected impact. The other wasted no time however, as it slashed its curved blade towards his neck. He ducked as quickly as he could, feeling the rush of air on the top of his head. Too close for comfort. With a violent thrust Francis jammed his knife into the creature's throat and pulled to the side, cutting its jugular vein. He rounded on the other creature, hoping he had been fast enough in getting rid of its companion but it just stood there, mid swing, an arrow protruding from its left eye before collapsing into a twitching heap. He caught a glimpse of the archer in the distance, a slender figure already in motion, as it was fleeing their own pursuers.

"Can't do much to help you out now." He mumbled to himself and turned to leave. Suddenly, the world seemed to slow down, he could hear his own heart pounding in his chest, his elongated breaths and most of all, an overwhelming sense of foreboding. As if he had suddenly acquired a sixth sense for danger, he threw himself to the side a fraction of a second before something large struck the side of the tree where he had been standing, ripping it partially out of the ground. This creature was something else, towering easily over 10 feet in height, its muscular body was riddled with scars and what could only be war trophies. Francis couldn't do anything but gape at the monstrosity as it roared head first, bearing its unnaturally large fangs toward him. This time he ran faster than he had ever done in his whole life.

"Shit! Shit! SHIT!" He yelled out as the creature began its chase, the ground shaking from the impact of its heavy legs. Luckily, the forest was dense enough to prevent the creature from reaching its top speed as it had to push through, or go around larger tree trunks, so Francis managed to put some distance between them. The smaller creatures he could understand somewhat but that… Where in the world could something like that roam free? "You're not in Kansas anymore, Frankie." He spat begrudgingly and ran on.

Upon reaching a large clearing he saw a sizable group of people, roughly twenty by his count, fiercely battling the rabid creatures. They seemed to be holding their own and even managed to down a fair amount of those creatures, a dozen or so already lying at their feet. This fight seemed doable so Francis ran toward them when a volley of arrows mowed down almost half of the creatures that still stood, causing the remaining few to retreat in fear.

"Hey!" He yelled to get the group's attention, while lifting his hands in the air. "You there! We have to move, there's something chas…" His voice caught as he caught a glimpse of a familiar face, his old friend from almost a lifetime ago. He approached the group, staring at her intently and she squinted her eyes in turn, obviously perplexed at what she was seeing. "Victoria?" He said while trying to still his breath from the long run. "Is that you?"

"No Way… Francis? Why are y… What is going…" She kept firing halves of questions before they just collided in a hug. She wasn't in a better state than he was, her clothes were torn, her face bloodied and swollen above the eye and she clutched what appeared to be a spear so tightly that her fingers turned white.

"Viki, what's going on here, where the fuck are we?" Francis spoke into her ear, still holding the hug before releasing slowly.

"I uh, I have no clue. I just found myself in this place and there were corpses everywhere and then these creatures came so I ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore. These guys saved me." She turned her head to gesture at the equally ragged band of men and women, clutching clunky, archaic weapons. The group of archers perched up on a sizable rock next to them seemed to be in better shape and weirdly enough, they were all women.

"We don't know where to go but we have to run!" Vicotria said with desperation obvious in her voice. Behind them stood a large cliff with what seemed to be a narrow passage, fit for one person to pass through at a time. Francis nodded towards the passage while adding: "This is our way out. At least through here, the big one can't follow." The group didn't waste time arguing and took off towards the narrow pass but the forest was eerily quiet again.

Upon reaching the pass, they ushered the women to go first before the men began pushing through as well, a few of them even dropping their weapons in favor of speed. Francis was at the back of the line, facing the large clearing to make sure nothing followed and turned to enter the pass once everyone was through. Once again a jolt of pain pulsed violently through his body and pinned him to the ground, as a black fletched arrow struck the back of his right leg. More arrows flew above him, aimed at those already in the pass but none seemed to hit.

"Francis!" Victoria's panicked shriek could be heard echoing from the narrow passage. She yelled out a few more times while trying to push past the men that had followed her in. Francis could hear muffled sounds of "No!" and "Leave him!" as she desperately fought the incoming mass of bodies. The ground was shaking again; the beast had found them and this time he couldn't outrun it. Strangely, he felt no fear. He stood up, favoring his left leg and bent down to break the arrow protruding from the front and pulled it out the back. Warm blood spilled from the wound but it didn't hurt a whole lot, he even put some pressure on it and still it was numb. He knew he couldn't run though, not from the smaller creatures, but still a sense of calm overtook him as he dropped his knife in favor of a battered broadsword, roughly 3 feet in length that had been dropped by one of the fleeing men. He looked towards the pass and saw Victoria still struggle with the crowd, tears in her eyes but her cries couldn't be heard anymore. All he could do is smile at her encouragingly before turning around to face what was coming.

This time there wasn't a small band of wild creatures facing him; this was practically an army, with the hulking horned beast at their front. Both of their flanks split from the main force to go around both sides of the cliff, most likely attempting to cut off the ragtag group of humans. Even with them gone, the warband easily numbered fifty howling creatures, being held back by the large one's authority alone.

Francis caught and held the gaze of the obvious leader and pointed his bettered sword at it as if to challenge it. "Come on then, beastie. I'm ready for my last dance."


	2. Chapter 2 - The High Road

Maxwell Richards

"This dang day keeps getting weirder and weirder."

Maxwell was standing at the foot of a large oak tree, looking down at a bloodied mass that used to be a man. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew him, or at least had seen him somewhere but he just couldn't put his finger on it.

Three days. Three whole days in this hellhole, hunted by those things, fighting to stay alive, afraid to sleep or start cooking fires… And now the hunger was setting in drastically, both for him and the group he took upon himself to lead. He had the military experience after all and his platoon numbering thirty four scared, dirty and tired men and women truly did look to him for guidance. Thank the good Lord Leah was there. His wife was alongside him when he woke up to chaos erupting all around, and proved to be a tough fighter in her own right. Those, Russian women sure didn't play around and Leah was as Russian as they get; tall, blonde and packed on hell of a punch when the situation required it.

Maxwell had spent eight years in the navy, three of them fighting alongside the meanest killing machines known to man, the navy seals. Even so, this place was taking its toll on him and he often found himself at a loss as to how to proceed. While he stood there, immersed in his thoughts, Leah crept behind him and gently placed her hand on top of his shoulders. She wasn't much shorter than him, perhaps only by an inch or two and he cleared six feet by a long shot. This time his shoulders were slumped and his head leveled with hers.

"What'd you find?" She said softly, while looking down at the man covered in dried blood.

"Another poor fool that gone and got himself killed. I figure he was pushin' for that there pass." He gestured towards a small pass that almost looked carved into the Cliffside. "He wadn't alone though. See them tracks there? Least fifteen or twenty more of 'em went it. Might be a good idea to follow." Maxwell was a Southerner through and through, a Kentucky boy to the core and his speech showed it. He had held a reign on it in the navy as much as he could but he was regressing now. Leah would just have to deal with it, they had bigger problems.

Leah's gaze was still fixed upon the man on the ground as she bend down slightly to get a better look, her long golden locks covering a portion of her face.

"That ain't what I'm puzzled about though. It's… this." Maxwell turned to gesture at a pile of corpses that surrounded the downed man in a semi-circle. They all seemed to be pushing towards that same spot and they all died from the same slashing wounds as far as he could tell. "Had to be 'bout fifty of these suckers out here. Not to mention the big one with his throat torn half off. Even if he had help from the others… it just dodn't fit in."

Leah was kneeling down now, brushing the strands of the man's long hair from his face. His whole face was bloody, though it was tough to tell how much of it was his. The rest of his body was riddled with cuts and slashes, his clothes were barely being held together in some places and yet she kept staring. Suddenly, her eyes widened in shock and she clasped the man's head in both hands, turning it to face her. "This, this is Francis!" She mouthed half to herself in shock.

"Who?" Maxwell bent down beside her and repeated the question since she failed to respond the first time.

"F-Francis. My friend, my… ex-boyfriend." Leah avoided his gaze and gently placed Francis' head back down. "He's still warm…" She trailed off, cupping his face in one hand.

That's where Maxwell knew him from. That rat bastard whom she used to date before he had married her; the same rat bastard whom she went to visit in Europe a few years back. Oh him and a group of old college friends of course. Maxwell often referred to that group using air quotes but he didn't have much leverage with Leah at the time, he was no saint either during their long marriage.

"Max I think…" Leah trailed off while pressing two fingers onto Francis' neck, trying to feel his pulse. "I think he's still alive!" Her head spun to face him, her expression one of disbelief.

"No way in hell!" Maxwell said as he bent down to check for himself. "The feller has been stabbed and slashed more times than Cesar himself, Leah, nobody could survive th…" He stopped dead in his tracks as he felt a faint pulse from his jugular vein. This was beyond bizarre! He had a dozen wounds that would down a hardened soldier in a matter of hours and this wimp sure as hell couldn't go toe to toe with the U.S. army. There he was though, still kicking after who knows how long. The other bodies had already started to stink so it could have been over a day.

"We have to do something for fucks sake, don't just stand there!" Leah yelled furiously and took out a water flask that she fleeced from one of the creatures she managed to kill. Finders keepers they say. She splashed some water on this face to clear the blood away and tried to force a few gulps down his throat. He convulsed weakly, coughing the water up along with what seemed to be more blood. Jesus, how was this guy still alive?

Maxwell called out to two others from their group for help, Emma and Richard, who were a nurse and a veterinarian respectively. They got to work immediately, trying to clear off as much gunk from his wounds, bandaged him up and tried to keep him hydrated as much as possible. After a solid hour or so, they had done as much as they could. Emma stayed with Francis to keep track of his vitals while Richard pulled Maxwell aside.

"I'm no doctor Max but even my 17 hand thoroughbred stallion would drop after that much punishment. I have no idea what's keeping that man alive but here he is nonetheless. I'm not sure that he'll ever walk again, even if he recovers by some miracle; his whole right knee has been shattered into dust." The vet looked behind at Francis again with a sad look on his face before speaking to Maxwell again. "Might be better to just, you know, put him out of his misery."

Maxwell stood there, his hand over his mouth, contemplating what to do. He wasn't the kind to leave a fellow soldier behind, no matter how hopeless the situation may be but then again, what were they to do with him? Carry him around for miles until they find shelter or some semblance of civilization that doesn't want to kill them? Casting another look at his wife, still at that bastard's side made his blood boil but he swallowed his pride once again. Honor was worth more than petty revenge for a deed he had no proof had been committed in the first place.

"Get a few guys together, let's see if we can fashion a stretcher. We carry him in twos, half an hour per man." When Richard paused, as if to protest he cut him off. "The sooner we git started, the sooner we can get outa this slaughterhouse." The high road may be the right way to go but damn, was he itching to do stray off course for once.


	3. Chapter 3 - Alive

It was a strange sensation, being unconscious, or at least that's what Francis thought he was. His muscles weren't responding, his eyes were closed and he felt like he was floating in a dream state, but one of those dreams where you were aware you're dreaming. He heard faint sounds around him, sounds of movement, people talking in muffled voices but he couldn't discern what they were saying, not even if they were speaking a language he understood.

Why was he here though? He remembered having his leg pierced by a black arrow as he tried to flee those creatures but not much afterwards. Had the others come to save him after all? It seemed unlikely, all of them were happy to run away and never look back, not that he blamed them. Well, all except his old friend, Victoria but she wasn't really the type to lift him up on her shoulders and whisk him away to safety. She struggled with a larger trash bag, let alone a man his size.

He felt a touch on him, on his forehead, followed by more mumbling coming from a female voice. Her hand was cold, very cold, or was he the one with the fever? It would explain this state between dreams and awareness. He tried opening his eyes but the most he could do is force his eyelids to shudder briefly. Something cold ran down his throat and his muscles worked lazily to swallow the liquid, water most likely. Only then did he realize how parched he had truly been and began hoping for a few more sips of the heavenly drink but sadly, it never came. His stomach was contorting as well, most likely from prolonged hunger but there was nothing he could do about it now except lie there and wait for recovery. The temporary awareness started to fade and Francis sunk back into the clutches of deep sleep once more, not knowing whether he would be waking up again.

„How... supposed to ke... around?" Francis snapped back into reality, he could finally understand the voices around him, if still not fully. The air felt different now, colder than before. How long had he slept? „... no man behind! I won't all..." The two voices seemed to be arguing angrily near him, male voices, and he had a subtle suspicion that he was the topic of their heated discussion. He took several deep breaths and steeled himself in the effort to try and open his eyes again. Weakly and slowly he forced his eyelids to move but the picture that formed was mostly a blur, as the two arguing figures stood slightly to the side of him.

„Hey! ... awake!" A commanding female voice sounded from behind him but he couldn't force himself to look in her direction, not yet. He opened his mouth to speak but only a weak croak came out. „Wait, don't speak just yet. I'll get you some water." Said the female voice in a slightly softer but no less commanding tone. The other two figures stopped their discussion and he felt their eyes on him, even if he couldn't see them. At least he could hear clearly enough now, his senses were coming back to him slowly, his vision sharpening by the minute.

„Here, drink." The female voice said and he felt a cold, metallic object press against his lips so he opened his mouth to swallow. He gulped the water greedily as long as she'd let him, gods, he couldn't remember ever being this thirsty. She stepped into his vision when he was done drinking, though he could still only see her rough shape. The woman was slender with what appeared to be bright red hair, as far as he could tell in this weak light of dawn. Or was it dusk? No way for him to tell for certain.

„Well, whattaya know, he lives. How are you feeling, Scarface? "Francis attempted to form a reply but all he managed was a dry cough, quite painful as well, maybe he shouldn't be talking just yet. „Alright, alright, take it easy big guy. I can't have you dying on me now after I've kept you alive for so long." So long, how long was that? It was hard for him to tell time, hell, he could barely think straight, let alone tell time.

„Be right back, champ. Don't go anywhere." With that, the woman stood up and walked over to the two now silent figures and seemed to push them further away, most likely to talk somewhere beyond his earshot. Not that he could hear well enough anyhow. He didn't like having his life in other people's hands, probably because he didn't put much value on human life either. Francis would have been just like the people who ran in terror, looking after their own sorry asses, had someone else been shot in the leg. He wasn't about to play hero, not around those monsters.

There was a sense of unease settling deep inside him, almost like a sixth sense for trouble that he had had as a child, while jumping the neighbor's fence to climb the cherry tree. Not that he needed any sort of sense to know they were in danger, wherever they may be. Those creatures were unlikely to have stopped their pursuit, even if they manage to side track them by fleeing into the pass.

He tried to get his bearings then, slowly moving his head around and listening to the numerous voices all around him. There must have been quite numerous, way more than the small ragtag group he had encountered before, so he focused on singling out Victoria's distinguishable voice from the crowd, but so far, he couldn't. There was a sound of a running stream nearby, shallow from what he could hear so it was logical the group had stopped there for the time being. Water was never easy to find.

There it was again, that sense of dread that made his hairs stand on end and his heart race a few beats faster. He had to do… something. All this laying around had made him sore and he was intent on stretching out even if it hurt like hell, which it likely would. Slowly he began pushing himself up from what appeared to be a makeshift stretcher lined with various items of clothing, used as covers. Pain shot through various parts of his body as he began moving, as if he had been pressed against a giant cheese shredder but he kept pushing until he was sitting up straight. His vision was still blurry, partly due to the pain from his injuries, a whole lot of injuries from what he could tell. His arms and legs were neatly wrapped up in improvised bandages with very little bare skin showing anywhere, and his back burned from the pressure of a long wound compressed by another set of tight bandages.

"Jesus, I probably look like a mummy at this point," Francis whispered to himself while feeling cloth wrapped around a portion of his head, mainly at the top and under his left eye. The pain radiating from so many sources on his body was so distracting that he almost didn't feel like he had truly been cut up, more like incredibly sore after a particularly difficult workout.

"I can't believe it! You really are awake!" From behind him came an excited yelp, a voice he was all too familiar with. He turned around as quickly as his aching body allowed and sure enough, there she was. Leah, his old college friend with whom he had a rather complicated history with, to say the least. She was a little worse for wear herself since that last time he had seen her but that was to be expected under the circumstances. Despite sporting makeshift bandages much like his own in several places, she seemed to have a spring in her step as she quickly closed the distance between them and knelt to give him a hug. Francis winced a bit from the pain but did his best to mask it and hug her back but it didn't go unnoticed. "Oh, sorry about that. You are still pretty banged up. I'm shocked you're still alive to be honest, you were lying in a pool of your own blood when we found you."

Francis just let out a huff of air and released her from the hug; he wasn't feeling very touchy-feely at the moment, what with all the wounds and all. "Do you know what happened? Where did you find me?" Francis asked bluntly without exchanging any pleasantries with the girl. "I don't remember much after being struck by that arrow…" He trailed off, feeling the pain of the blow as if it was happening all over again.

Leah's face contorted into a puzzled expression, as she seemed to think about what answer to give him. "We found you on what looked like a battlefield. There were dead, uh, things all around you and you were cut up quite badly. I don't know how long you were there before we found you, but you were barely alive when we did; I'm not even sure what made me check your pulse to be honest."

Francis solemnly nodded and looked away for a moment, attempting to remember what went down in front of that pass but once again, there was only fog in his memory. "What about the others, did you encounter anyone else? I saw at least fifteen or twenty people who ran into the pass before I… fell." He trailed off, rubbing his injured leg.

"We picked up a few stragglers along the way, they were all banged up pretty badly but I think there were only three or four thus far. We did find tracks leading into the pass but no people so far during the past three days."

"Three days?" Francis exclaimed. "I was out for three days?"

"Yeah, dude. You were carved up, your knee is shambles, there is a hole going right through your leg, not to mention the huge gashes on your head. I'd say being down three days is not a bad deal." Leah seemed to be equally annoyed and amused by his reaction but her tone didn't change. "It looked like you fought until you couldn't stand up anymore, we took the sword you had with us too. Not a pretty sight but it was covered with dried blood so I guess you did something right."

Francis was silent again, trying really hard to remember his last moments before the three day long hole in his memory. "Can you hand me the sword I had?" He asked quietly, more mumbling into his chin than addressing Leah.

"Umm, yeah I guess." She got up, the confused look on her face again. "It's right here with your other stuff. You'll be happy to hear that your cell phone survived." She mused while handing the battered broadsword over to him. "Maxwell took it upon himself to clean and sharpen it, just in case. You know how he gets with his military discipline."

"Maxwell is here too?" Francis' gaze shot up towards her questioningly. "I'm sure he was incredibly happy to see me."

"You'd be surprised. He was the one that insisted we take you along, even though you were barely breathing. Something about never leaving soldiers behind or what not."

"I'll be sure to thank him for that. I owe my life to all of you."

Leah waved her hand with a slight smirk on her face. "Forget about it, you would have done the same for anyone here. I know you well enough Francis.

Francis managed a weak smile but all he could think of was how gladly he would let anyone fend those things off while he ran. Heroism was for movies and overly inflated historical events, while he was a pragmatist; anything goes as long as you keep yourself alive. Not that he was about to share that sentiment with Leah or anyone else.

He held the battered sword in his hands, feeling its weight. It was lighter than he had expected, no more than five or six pounds despite the broad and thick blade. Pushing himself to remember held it out in front of his field of vision, as if to gauge its straightness. Something was familiar about that motion; he must have done it before. Was it a memory or just something his brain meshed together from all those hours playing Skyrim?

"You rearin' for a fight so soon? And here I was hopin' I'd get to haul your ass around for another day or two on this here stretcher." Ah, Maxwell. Francis may have never met him but he had very little doubt this bulky mass of a man in front of him was Leah's husband. He always imagined their first encounter would end violently, or at the very least with harsh words being said. For once he was happy he was wrong. However, Maxwell's face did seem to convey a certain firmness that was beyond the expected steel gaze of a long term soldier; no, Maxwell wanted to run that very sword Francis was holding through his chest.

"I figured you guys would need another hand soon enough." He almost added _'your wife did'_ but held his tongue. Francis probably wouldn't fare well in a fight against this brute even if he was completely healthy, so provoking him in this state was plain lunacy. "I was told you're the one that made sure I wasn't left behind. Thank you Maxwell, I won't forget that." Not that he would return the favor if the tables ever turned but once again, nobody needed to know that.

Maxwell just nodded, maintaining his steely gaze and walked over to sit beside his wife who was leaning against the nearby tree with her legs crossed on the ground. He placed his hand onto her leg protectively before continuing. "I refuse to leave a fallen man behind, no matter how bad he's had it. More than that though, _Francis…"_ He accentuated his name in such a way that left no room for error as to how Maxwell felt about him. "… there are a lota things I just can't understand, ya see." His thick accent was almost comical, like a Texan sheriff interrogating a prisoner. "I need you to help me clear up some of these unknowns, whaddaya say?"

Was this the good cop or the bad cop routine? Maxwell could never pull off a good cop, his was permanently contorted into a frown from what Francis could tell. No matter, might as well talk and get as much info out of him as he could. Besides, it's not like he had anything to hide.

With a big amused grin Francis looked up at him and replied. "Sure, big guy, fire away. This talk has been long overdue anyway."


	4. Chapter 4 - The First Thorn

_Oh you smug sumbitch._

Maxwell fumed on the inside as this piece of shit dared to grin into his face like that and even hint at… He had to calm down, no use in getting riled up over these not-so-subtle provocations. He felt a sting in his ribs and realized Leah had pushed her elbow into him. Must have been his grip on her leg, he realized, goodness he must have squeezed her like crazy to redirect his anger. He just hoped that grinning asshole didn't notice.

"Right. Well, how 'bout you start at the beginning. Tell me everything you remember and don't spare no details neither, we're all fumblin' in the dark as it is."

Francis scratched his head and winced, obviously hitting a sore spot. "Ah, well… I remember waking up under a pile of bodies. Human bodies for sure but not like us, I don't think. Their clothes were all different and some had armor." He touched his left shoulder with his hand where a puncture wound had been bandaged up. "I found a rusty piece of armor stuck inside my shoulder when I tried to put the body off. When I managed to get out and get my bearings, I got attacked by one of those, uh, things. Any idea what they are? They may have been human once but… Damn, not anymore."

"Yer guess is as good as mine, Francis. All I know is that they drop if ya hit them hard enough." Maxwell was remembering his own clashes with the creatures now, it was a similar scenario to what Francis had described. Screams and inhuman howls everywhere as he swung a giant mallet he picked up from a nearby rack, trying to get passed the creatures blocking his way. There were others there, including his wife but so many never made it out. Too many… "Then what happened?" Maxwell pressed, not wanting to delve back into those memories.

"I ran, what else could I do? More of those things blocked my way but I came upon this… Big one." Francis' face contorted in what seemed a genuine fear from the mere mention of the thing.

"The huge horned thing we found? Had a tree trunk for a weapon and a bunch of bones and skulls on it as some kind of sick trophy collection?" Leah, interjected. Maxwell hated even seeing her talk to this bastard but it was a valid question. "We found it near where you had been. Its throat was slashed open pretty badly." She almost seemed giddy when recounting the story, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Wow, I can't imagine who could take on that brute. It split a tree in half while trying to tear my head off, I was lucky to be able to run away from it."

Maxwell nodded, he had no doubt anyone would run if they were unfortunate enough to find themselves face to face with that hell spawn. "Well, somethin' done killed it. Along with about fifty of his little friends. I was hopin' you'd know a thing or two 'bout that, Francis."

"I thought about it and all I can think of is that the other group came back and fought for some reason. Though I don't see why they would, there was no way the big one could have followed them through the pass."

"We followed them tracks through the pass. Seems they ran into more o' them things further on. No bodies though, only blood and few discarded weapons. Couldn't track them after that and besides, it's tough to tell which tracks are human and which aren't so we wasn't about to go look for trouble."

"I see…" Francis trailed away, obviously perturbed by the news. Did he have a stake in this, did he know anyone in that group? Before Maxwell could ask Francis continued. "Where are we now? Did anyone survey our surroundings from a higher altitude?"

"Couple guys tried climbing one o' them taller trees but they couldn't see much. It looks like we're in a long valley and the fog ain't helpin' the scoutin' efforts. We found this here creek yesterday so we decided to camp out and rest up. Got a few guys scouting around just in case more o' those things come lookin' for us again."

"Smart. They seem to have a taste for human flesh." Francis looked around the camp again, as if to inspect their preparedness. Who the hell was this chump to judge his setup? The guy probably never even had Boy Scout training, let alone military knowhow. "How are we on food supplies? This place doesn't seem to be very hospitable in that regard."

Damn it, he wasn't wrong. Maxwell had been struggling with that issue for some time now. They had picked up some food from the creatures they killed, mostly some kind of moldy bread and something that seemed to be fish. They avoided the larger chunks of meat for fear they might be human flesh; there was no way to tell. "I have the guys fishin' what they can from the creek and a few of 'em go out hunting on a regular basis. Yer right though, we're runnin' dangerously low."

"Speaking of which." Leah interjected again to Maxwell's dismay. "You haven't eaten much during these three days, we could only get a bit of stew here and there into you." She pulled out a chunk of meat and some bread that was almost black and handed it to him. "I know it looks like ass but it's all we've got."

"Thanks, Leah. I'm so hungry I could eat, well, this." Francis mused and took a bite of the meat, quickly grimacing and reached for the water flask to wash the disgusting snack down. "Not quite the five star cooking I was expecting but it'll do." He took another bite, bread this time and turned to Maxwell once again. "This is pretty much all I can remember. I started running towards the pass with the other group but one of these things stuck me with an arrow before I could reach it. I guess I decided to take a stand right there. We can see how well that turned out…"

"You're alive, many can't say that right about now." Maxwell said roughly, still without sympathy for the man. He was stuck with him now though and talking to him didn't bring him any closer to figuring out what's going on here. Almost a week in this meat grinder now and they were faced with famine, monsters, diseases and God knows what else in these woods, with no civilization in sight. He was trying to step up and lead these people, save as many as he could but it was looking worse by the hour and he was afraid he might be faced with the choice to take care of himself and Leah at the expense of the others. He prayed it would never come to that.

He must have drifted away for a while because Francis was making a solid attempt to stand up when he came to his senses again. "I wouldn't do that Francis. Ya took too much damage to be movin' around just yet, all you'll do is reopen yer wounds and then Emma will have my hide."

Francis didn't listen, of course he didn't, that guy was about as likely to obey his command as he was to swap spit with one of those monsters. Grunting and wincing he made it all the way up, using his sword as a crutch on his right side since his right leg was pretty much useless now. Maxwell sighed and got up as well. "Suit yerself boy but if Emma comes runnin' it's yer hide that'll be on the line."

Leah got up as well and squeezed Francis' shoulder encouragingly before walking off with Maxwell. "What do we do with him, Max? He can't travel in this shape." She asked after they were out of earshot.

"I donno Leah, I can't be worryin' about him, he's a grown ass man. The doc was pissed about havin' do carry him all this way and others ain't too far off. We'll stick around here for a while before we move up to follow the creek but I can't promise none o' them guys will be willin' to carry him again."

"Then I'll carry him so you big strong men can get your beauty rest, goddamnit. We didn't drag him along all this way just to let him die now!" She was furious and he knew it but his own rage clouded his judgment, making him press the issue.

"What the hell is it about this guy, huh? What's making you go all momma bear on him like you owe him a goddamn thing, Leah?" He glanced back towards Francis who seemed to be oblivious to their squabble and tested the extent of his leg injury by slowly applying pressure. Oddly enough, he was doing just fine despite the smashed knee and puncture wound. Maybe Emma slipped him some painkillers from her secret stash when nobody was looking; the stash she thought nobody knew about. His head snapped back when Leah grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her once again.

"You do **not** want to go there Maxwell. I know damn well what you're implying and I will not dignify it with a response but trust me when I say, you do **not** want to go there." Her tone was cold and threatening, the kind of tone he always imagined military interrogators used on their captives. It made him shiver, as if her calling him by his first name wasn't enough of a warning not to press it. She always called him Max, even though he didn't allow anyone else to do that.

Maxwell closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to let go of his anger and frustration. Lord knows he has had issues with his temper in the past and he couldn't afford to go off on his wife here, in front of all these people that were counting on him. Some of them were eavesdropping now, no doubt due to their heated exchange earlier and he wasn't about to give them a round two of the show. "Alright, fine. I'll drop it but it doesn't mean that I trust the guy. Somethin' about him is odd." Odd was the only word he could come up with but the truth was that his mere presence had bugged him from the moment he saw him on the ground and despite Leah's attempts to pin that feeling on his ego, it was something more. That guy should have been dead ten times over but there he was, limping around, wrapped up in bandages like some ominous movie villain.

"He's odd?" Leah accentuated the 'he' part of the sentence. "Haven't your super navy seal sense managed to pick up something else that's odd. Something a helluva lot more obvious, huh?" Apparently the fight wasn't over; he should have known it, his wife wasn't known for quick conflict resolution.

"What are you talking about? You mean aside from waking up on a pile o' bodies, inhuman monsters huntin' us and people droppin' like flies left and right?" Leah smirk that followed was expected, all women had the same smirk when they knew something the man didn't and couldn't wait to call him a fool.

"Ever noticed that something is off with the time here? The days Maxwell, the days are longer, I measured it. Francis' phone had enough charge for me to measure the length of the days from noon to noon." She paused, looking up at the sky that grew darker by the minute. The fog was still engulfing them, this damn valley was always shrouded by the damn thing and it made orientation nigh impossible. "It's off by roughly two hours, give or take; two hours longer, Maxwell." Her anger seemed to fade now as she said the last portion in a more hushed tone even though nobody was really within earshot.

"That… That can't be right, Leah. It's almost impossible to tell when noon is with this darn fog." She shook her head in an exasperated manner so he decided to cut her off before she began berating him again. "Even if it were longer, what in the hell would that mean? Days don't just get longer on their own and I'm pretty sure daylight saving ain't taking place anytime soon."

Leah let out a long sigh, looking up into the darkened portion of the sky. "I wish I could see the stars from here. We need to get to high ground, Max and soon."

"Leah, what are you tryin' to say here?"

"Nothing, just find me a fucking mountain we can climb and we'll go from there. You can do that much, can't you?" The last question was obviously rhetorical since she stormed past him to join a small group of people sitting by one of the larger camp fires.

Maxwell rubbed his eyes after watching his wife storm off. That was a view he was used to by now but at least there were no dishes thrown around. He glanced back over to where Francis was, only to catch a glimpse of him limping off deeper into the forest.

Staring he mumbled quietly to himself, a whisper full of anger and promise. "I hope you get lost or eaten by one of those things you rat bastard. I'll get my hands on you before all o' this is said and done."


	5. Chapter 5 - No Good Deed

Yep, there it was again, his good old friend – excruciating pain. Francis was breaking out a sweat after limping around for no more than a few minutes and it wasn't from the exercise. His right leg hurt so much he feared he might pass out but he couldn't sit still anymore. Three days of playing a corpse had been enough, he needed to move. The sense of dread that kept creeping up on him during opportune moments of silence and reflection didn't help either. Nothing was wrong around the camp as far as he could tell but for some reason his newly found sense screamed at him, as if an army was about to run over all of them. There was nothing he could do about the dread but he could silence the voiceless screaming in his mind by moving, or limping, rather.

After wandering a little ways outside of the camp he started hearing something, a sort of rhythmic thinking somewhere in the distance. It almost sounded like someone was cutting wood with a particularly dull and small hatchet. He decided to follow the source of the mysterious sound; after all, what was the worst thing that could happen? Apart from death and dismemberment that is.

Once he reached a small clearing surrounded by thick, old trees, he discovered that he had been entirely wrong in his assessment. In the middle of the grassy meadow stood a woman, longbow clutched firmly in her left hand with an arrow strung as far back as she could manage. She was somewhat tall for a woman but nowhere near Leah's height; her frame was that of an athlete, perhaps a track and field star or a javelin thrower since her lean muscles were apparent even from that distance. The hand clutching the arrow was wrapped in a makeshift glove she must have made to ease her use of the bow. Just as Francis was about to call out to her she turned her nocked arrow to the right and let loose, the arrow obviously hitting its intended target as there was a brief yelp of some poor bird that she most likely nailed to a tree somewhere in the distance.

„Nice shooting, you must have practiced a lot." Francis said, limping towards her slowly. Not that he could speed up even if he wanted to.

She brushed her long brown hair aside as she looked him from head to toe, her face expressionless. „Ah, the cripple walks again. I heard some people say you were up and about."

Well, she was about as pleasant as Maxwell. Little easier on the eyes, admittedly. „Francis and yes, the cripple walks once more. Or limps, rather." His mind flashed recognition as he scanned her face, trying to figure her out without talking too much. It was a habit of his as he preferred having a leg up on people before they ever spoke. "Have I seen you before, fighting those things near the pass? You had a longbow back then as well if my guess is correct, you saved me from getting gutted from behind by one of those things.

Her eyes seemed to gauging his face in turn now. There was no doubt this girl was calculated and most likely ruthless. Her gear alone spoke volumes, almost none of it was in any way similar to the regular street clothes most people he had seen thus far were wearing. Various articles of her clothing were strung together from several types of animal hide and off to the side, he noticed a pile of her armaments. Pile would be the correct word as there was certainly more than a blade or two in there. "Could have been me, I was a little preoccupied with saving my own hide to see whom or what I was shooting at."

Now there's a comforting thought. Seems that the arrow that saved him could have just as easily found its way into Francis' own skull. "Regardless, I am in your debt. I may not be able to render many favors in return just yet but I'll remember who helped me survive in this place."

"Keep your promises, I have no use for them. If can use you, I will and if not, you best stay out of my way." She turned to find the bird she had shot down somewhere in the distance and Francis followed as quickly as his leg allowed. At least she will be eating well tonight.

"How very Mad Max of you, stick to your own guns. I can respect that. However, if you have nothing to ask of me, then I have something to ask of you." He paused for a reaction but continued once it was evident that he wasn't going to get one. "You have been here for a while haven't you? Quite a bit longer than the rest of us, no doubt."

She found her prey a good fifty yards away from where she stood before, an impressive shot. Maybe she was an Olympic archer; who else could make such a shot so effortlessly? "I'm in awe of your sharp deductive skills, so pray tell, what gave it away? The hides, the bow or my overall pleasant demeanor?"

Francis laughed softly as he watched her pick the bird up and string it around her belt. "A combination of all of those things but mostly your dead eyes. You've seen so much death that you've lost touch with most human emotions. How am I doing so far?"

They walked back towards the encampment now, after the still nameless woman picked up the rest of her gear. Two curved blades, roughly two feet long, an assortment of daggers and knives that she tucked in various spots of her makeshift armor and two quivers of what appeared to be self-made arrows.

"The name's Alexia by the way but I go by Alex and yes, I have been here before any of you. From my perspective, I was the first. At least I've never met anyone who's been here longer just yet. Your two friends Maxwell and Leah, along with their group are the second batch. You are the last. For now."

"Those guys haven't been here very long either, roughly a week, so that would put you here for around ten days if there's any sort of a pattern to these appearances."

"Longer, much longer. Closer to a month now, I'd say but I never strayed too far from that accursed place. It always felt like I had to stick around, I can't really explain it but I just knew."

That feeling rang true with Francis as well, except his was screaming at him to move, to run. They were approaching the camp now and raised voices could be heard through the thicket somewhere around his stretcher.

"I think they are looking for you. It's very irresponsible to just wander off like that without telling anyone, Francis. It can get you killed." Alexia said with a smile and sped up towards the large campfire to prepare her dinner.

Without uttering another word, Francis made his way back to his stretcher where a slender woman was having a fit, screaming at a man she referred to as 'Dick', from what he could hear. Whether that was a nickname or an insult, wasn't clear just yet.

"Once! I asked you to check up on him once in these three days and you couldn't even do that properly! I'm sick and tired of you complaining like fuckin' grandma at every little thi…" The slender, red headed woman stopped her seemingly lengthy tirade as soon as she noticed Francis wobbling his way towards them. "Where the **hell** have you been?" She barked angrily, pushing the man aside and roughly grabbed Francis' arm to support him back towards the stretcher.

"I couldn't stay still anymore, after all, I just found out I was knocked out for three whole days."

"Shut up." The woman cut him off, still fuming. "I need to check your bandages so lay down, now." Her voice was stern and commanding, as if she had been used to the role, even though she couldn't have been much older than twenty by his judgment. The man she had previously screamed at muttered some angry but barely audible rebuttal and left, kicking the fallen leaves in front of him. As he was leaving Emma barked another command behind him. "Go check on that kid, Jake, Josh or whatever douchey J name he had." With that she turned her attention back to Francis and cocked her head expectantly, waiting for him to do as she had said.

Francis obeyed her command and laid down onto the makeshift stretcher covered with rejected clothes someone fashioned into a kind of bed sheet. "What's the verdict, doc?"

She worked silently, removing some bandages to inspect the wounds or merely touching them to feel the moisture of blood from a reopened wound. Bandages were certainly in low supply so he had no doubt many of them had been used and reused on him plenty of times.

She was a pretty girl by all accounts, despite her ragged state. Her hair was long with a slight curl and was starting to turn into a darker red due to the grease and filth she must have accumulated over time. Alexia said this group had been here almost a week, right? Long time to go without a shower. Her eyes were a different story though, bright blue, almost unnaturally so and they flashed back and forth over his injured body like she was performing heart surgery, not merely changing bandages. After she was done fastening the final bandage that was wrapped around his left shoulder, she leaned back against a tree nearby and exhaled a long breath in relief.

"It seems none of the wounds have reopened, you're pretty lucky, you…" Before continuing her arm flashed and her open palm struck him hard over the side of his head. "Idiot! You aren't fit to so much as breathe heavily and I find you walking. Walking!" Stress was showing on her face, her eyelids sagged, her face pale despite the specs of dirt covering her cheeks and forehead.

"Ease up woman I'm fine. I've no idea how but I'm fine, even the pain isn't too bad so far." Francis wasn't used to being on the defensive but he had no leverage in this conversation as he owed his life to this woman; another one on the continuously lengthening list of people who saved his hide at one point or another. He certainly wasn't a fan of that since people tend to think they can call in favors at any time and expect you to deliver.

"Oh I'm **so** sorry, Superman. How could I **ever** doubt you?" She took another deep breath to steady herself and then turned to look him in the eyes. Those bright blue eyes of hers were as intense as ever, as if she was trying to burn her way through his body and into his soul. "Look man, I know you just woke up in this shithole and not much is clear yet but there is a pecking order established around here and while you're injured, I'm the boss. The bitch queen to my friends, if you will."

"Pleased to meet you bitch queen, I'm Francis. It's good to know I've had someone so, heh, intense watching over me while I was out." Francis said without skipping a beat, attempting to restore at least some balance to the conversation.

The woman chuckled and leaned her head back onto the tree trunk, groaning. "Ugh, fine, I'm Emma. No cutsie nicknames though, dude or I will play tic tac toe on your butt cheeks using a rusty knife while you sleep. "

"I was perfectly happy calling you bitch queen to be honest. Fits you like a glove." He said grinning as genuinely as he could through the dense sarcasm. Emma laughed it off tiredly and closed her eyes for a moment, still leaning her head back.

"At least you're awake now, I wasn't sure when you'd drop dead but here you are, proving me hella wrong. Cudos to you Frank, I've never seen such a recovery."

"It's Francis." He said despite himself, knowing that she probably used the wrong name on purpose so he pushed on not to give her an opportunity for a rebuttal. "How bad was it? I heard I was carved up quite badly but it couldn't have been that serious if I'm walking around after only three days. Well, limping but still."

She let out a short cackle before refocusing on his face lazily. "Man, you looked like you had been thrown into a meat grinder along with a box of steel spikes. You had a significant cut to the axillary artery, two broken ribs, large puncture wound on your leg, foot long slash on your deltoid muscles, shattered kneecap, a five inch stab wound between the fifth and sixth rib, and not to mention a gang of other smaller cuts, each dangerous enough to cause an infection in these conditions. So yes, Francis, I'd say you were pretty fucked up."

Francis remained silent for a few moments, taking it all in. She was right, either one of these injuries would be enough to kill any grown man without access to immediate medical help. Before he could utter a word, Emma rolled on.

"I couldn't even sew some of your wounds up after we found you but the bleeding had stopped long before I even had the chance. I don't know how you survived, man but if you believe in a higher power, I'd start praising it to high heaven."

"I'll make sure to send the flying spaghetti monster my fondest regards." Francis replied with no shortage of sarcasm, as usual. "What's your deal then, Emma? You seem a little young to be a full-fledged doctor. No offense, of course; you did save my ass after all."

"None taken." She said while scooting over closer to Francis and the fire on the other side of him. The night had almost fallen and it was starting to get chilly. "I'm a part time nurse going to med school but I'm a long way away from being an actual doc. Dick, ehh, Richard is the closest we have to an actual doctor around here, even if he is just a vet. Don't let his bitchy side fool you, he saved alotta lives around this camp and he's not too bad when his PMS isn't kicking in. Carried your ass a good portion of the way too."

Lovely, another person he owed some type of debt too. This was worse than his student loans already. "I see, I'll make sure to thank him when I see him." This was getting him nowhere, he didn't need a list of names to whom he owed his life, he needed to find out more about this place. "So, what's you take on this place, Emma? I'm hoping someone will have better insight than me."

"Not much to it, really. My story is similar to everyone's. Woke up on a pile of rotting bodies, can't remember a damn thing before it happened and my last memory must have taken place at least two or three weeks ago, when I visited my parents, upstate. Do you remember anything before this charming slice of paradise?"

Francis shook his head weakly and propped his head up a little with his healthier, right arm. "I remember driving but I'm not sure when or where. It's all fuzzy afterwards." He closed his eyes to try and push himself to remember again but nothing came, both before waking up underneath a pile of bodies and after waking up in this camp, bandaged like a Disney World actor. The stress on his face was obviously evident to Emma so she gave him a little shove with her foot to snap him out of it.

"Don't burst a blood vessel, dude. The memory will come back in time, if it returns at all, that is." She looked down at him thoughtfully now, as if deciding how to proceed. "By the way, do you feel any sort of nausea, cramps or impaired vision?"

"Ummm, the food was pretty horrible but not so bad for me to want to vomit. My vision was a little foggy when I first woke up but it's fine now; no cramps either but my leg really is killing me. I don't suppose you scored some painkillers around here? No? Weed, maybe?"

Emma laughed with a hint of sadness to her. "What I'd give for a solid toke or two right about now…" She trailed off, probably recalling a fond memory. "I found nothing of the sort, I'm afraid, so remember that the next time you go and get yourself carved up. No anesthesia, not even booze."

Not even alcohol, huh? How the hell did she disinfect his wounds then? Questions kept piling up in this place and answers were as absent as any sort of human civilization. Francis had more pressing matters though, he needed to get back onto his feet and carry his own weight, one way or another. He was already scanning the ground for some sort of branch he could use as a crutch in the future; the sword wouldn't do for longer journeys. He was interrupted by Maxwell who was wearing his usual army-intense stare, his back straight and arms crossed under his chest.

"We leave first thing in the mornin', hope you can carry yer own weight for a while at least, the fellas are getting mighty tired of haulin' you around." He said in his oh so charming southern accent. Before Francis could respond, Emma cut in, anger flaring once again. She had a lot of anger in that tiny body of hers.

"What the shit, Max! You can't make him walk, he'll bleed out on me after half a mile!"

"First of all, it's Maxwell. Only m'wife gets to call me Max. Second, we will be travelin' uphill a good portion of the time and there ain't no way two people can haul his ass up on that terrain without potentially injurin' themselves. He walks or he stays."

Emma began to stand up, ready to take Maxwell on head first, despite the fact he was almost double her size. "Listen here you redneck piece of sh…"

Before she could finish her, no doubt eloquent and productive rebuttal, Francis grabbed her arm to stop her from standing up. It earned him the same look of fury that was intended for Maxwell but he didn't let her fume on. "I'll walk, Maxwell. Just get me a crutch or two and I'll be fine. Besides, I'm sick of lying around like a helpless little lamb."

Emma looked ready to tear both of their throats out but before she could reply, Maxwell began in his classic forceful manner that left little room for debate.

"Good. I'll hold ya to that, y'hear? We have bigger problems in this God forsaken place…" With that he turned around and left, mumbling something to himself. Most likely something about "being surrounded by weak fools."

"Semper fi, big man, semper fi." Francis said, while lowering himself back down once he let go of Emma's arm. She still looked like she could lunge at Maxwell even though he had walked a good distance away from them at this point.

She groaned loudly in frustration once again and stood up, looking down at Francis in his stretcher. "You better make friends with Dick because if you start bleeding again, I sure as **fuck** won't be patching you up. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, your royal bitchiness. You shall not see, nor hear a complaint out of me from here on in. That do be my solemn vow." Francis said, attempting to impersonate the pompous tone royalty might have in some cliché Hollywood flick.

Emma kicked a small pile of leaves towards his face and left, just as Maxwell had, mumbling to herself in frustration. "If ego needed air to survive we would have all suffocated ages ago! Fucking men and their…" Francis laughed softly, feeling the pain of his injuries once more as she walked away.

She was a tough one, no doubt. There would be no manipulating her, at least not through force but he was alright with that. As much as she fretted and screamed, Emma was the type of person to help anyone in need, Francis had seen the type many times. That constant feeling of dread was bearing down on him again and with it, he knew he'd need her help again in the near future. Him and many others in this solemn-looking group.


	6. Chapter 6 - On The Move

Sleep never came easy to Maxwell during his brief time in this hostile, new place but tonight it overtook him in an instant. It was not the restful sleep he had hoped for however; instead, he was plagued by extremely vivid dreams the likes of which he had never seen his entire life. They were getting worse each night and each night, they seemed increasingly more real.

The images that flashed through his mind were incoherent at first but now they were starting to make sense. He could see figures, thousands of them, an army even, marching in sickly crimson fog. He couldn't tell who or what the figures were but they did seem to be armed and marching into some sort of battle. He knew that, the same way he sometimes knew certain things in his dreams without any real proof but this time he felt their stomping feet as if her were right there with them. His arms twitched as if he were squeezing his trusted weapon, eager to head into battle, eager to spill blood. Whose blood he wanted to spill he did not know, but he knew that battle called to him.

Maxwell knew that this lust for battle would linger on into his waking hours and it certainly didn't help improve his already sulky mood. God, he would settle for fighting those abominations any day before having to have another pointless argument with wife. He loved her with his whole heart, Lord knows that's the truth but she was a handful to say the least.

As his thoughts drifted towards his wife and the problems of the waking world, his vision shifted and instead of the marching horde, a large structure appeared before him. That was the goal; he knew that with every fiber of his being. It must have been a city of some sort, with tall walls and spires arching menacingly upwards, even beyond the crimson mist and his field of vision. There was an air of expectation among the figures standing beside him, he felt it too and he knew then that they weren't ready yet. Not ready to attack. Many more had to come but they would, they would gather and then this monster of wood and stone would fall. He could almost hear it now, hear the call emanating from all around him, a colorless, toneless voice, like a faint whisper of the dying wind.

„Come."

Maxwell snapped awake, gripping a curved long dagger he always kept by his side as he slept. He was covered in sweat and his head ached to no end. He took several deep breaths to steady himself while rubbing his temples in an effort to alleviate the pain. It helped somewhat but he was far from feeling well, oh so very far. He noticed Leah sleeping a few feet away from him and she seemed peaceful enough. At least one of them would be getting a good night's rest. A hint of morning light could be seen in the distance through the trees and Maxwell sighed in disappointment; there would be no more sleep for him tonight. Moving as quietly as he could, he got dressed and stoked the almost dead fire next to him with a few dry twigs to get it going again. Might as well stay warm until the sun comes up.

He sat there for a moment, poking the fiery embers with a thin stick until it got large enough to warm him up properly. The dreams still haunted him, it all felt so real; the figures, the city, the need to kill... It was all so abstract and yet he never felt so certain about any of his goals in his whole life. What were his goals though? Find a city that he wasn't sure even existed to join an army that wanted to tear it down for reasons he knew nothing about? No, he definitely wasn't about to march this group into some strange war on a hunch he got in a dream. Why was his desire to kill so real then?

As he trailed off, lost in his thoughts, his ears detected a faint note of what sounded like metal gliding through the air. The sound was nearby, definitely inside the camp. Had someone snuck in while he was asleep? No, the sentries were still in their positions; he could see them from this central position of the camp he chose specifically to easily oversee all defenses. Maxwell decided to leave nothing to chance and stood up, sheathed his dagger into a small leather scabbard and picked up the large mallet he had been hauling around from day one. It was a heavy, cumbersome thing, likely intended for work rather than war but it was useful enough against those creatures, easily splitting their heads open with the sheer weight and momentum of the weapon amplified by his considerable strength.

He walked around the camp cautiously, attempting not to wake any of the others while searching for the source of the sound. The metallic notes seemed to have a rhythm to them, sometimes fast and violent, sometimes slow and controlled but they never stopped. Sunlight was starting to fill the camp a little now and he didn't have to rely solely on the light of nearly extinguished fires others had started before heading off to sleep. The sound was getting closer now, somewhere around Francis' part of the camp. He should have known that bastard was up to something, his stretcher turned bedroll was empty and the sword he had left him was gone as well. Did he run off thinking he could do better on his own now that he could walk again? Not even walk, limp was the better verb for his state. No, nobody was that stupid.

Just as Maxwell turned the corner from a sizable rock underneath which Francis' bedroll had been placed, he saw a figure move smoothly in the faint light of the coming day. He recognized Francis with his limp, waving his sword around in some sort of practice form. It wasn't as smooth or skillful as he had initially thought, with the burden of the limp only adding to the awkwardness of the movements done by a man that probably never held a real weapon before. Still, it was somewhat admirable that the man was practicing in his condition; perhaps he would be able to carry his weight after all. Maxwell debated whether he should let Francis know that it would be better for him to rest a little bit more until it's time to leave but he decided against it. Despite his military training, Maxwell was certainly not a morning person and talking to that guy was far from what he envisioned as a pleasant beginning of the day. Thus Maxwell backed away and returned to his spot in the camp to begin his own preparations.

They would have a long day ahead of them and he planned on finding high ground before nightfall, not only because it was the sound thing to do but also to shut Leah up for once and have her look at the stars for whatever reason. It's not like she was into astronomy and even she could orient herself according to the stars, what point was there to knowing where north was when you had no idea where you were in the world?

Soon enough, the camp was bustling with people gathering their clothes, rations and weapons to ready themselves for departure. This spot near the creek had served them well, they even managed to hunt down some game that would help them through the next few days but now it was time to leave. They would follow it upstream for a while as that certainly meant they were going uphill but he wouldn't shy from leaving their only water source in favor of finding a vantage point that would help them survey the area and plan their next move. He spotted Francis in the corner of his eye, packing the little gear he had, still sweaty from the recent exercise. Emma was already berating him, no doubt for overexerting himself needlessly so early in the morning but he seemed to ignore her most of the time. She sure spent a lot of time around someone that was pissing her off so easily, interesting.

The sun was a little about the horizon when the camp was cleared and tracks covered as much as possible as a precaution to prevent any of those darkspawn from tracking them. Why had he thought of that name just now? Did one of those strange archer women who hang out around Alexia call them that? No matter, darkspawn was as good a name for them as any other. He positioned the sentries, or rather the men who had at least some skill in combat, strategically around the group of survivors and so they set off upstream, following the right bank of the small creek for some time.

The people were in bad shape, their faces were sunken and pale, and many sported makeshift bandages that Richard and Emma had managed to string together from discarded clothes. Looking at them now, on the move, made Maxwell's stomach churn in agony; close to forty souls depending on him not to lead him to their deaths. He was never even given command of a squad larger than six people during his time in the military and now he was supposed to deal with so many non-combatants. It was as frustrating and terrifying as anything he had to do in his whole life but he marched on alongside them, doing his best to keep his emotions securely bottled up and hidden from the rest. They were scared enough as it is and they needed a confident leader with a definite plan or there would be chaos.

The sun had climbed quite close to its zenith when Maxwell ordered the first rest of the day, still in the vicinity of the creek they had been following so far. Despite their extreme situation, the group was hauling around a good amount of weapons, clothing and other gear of all sorts, more than one would expect in these circumstances. The quality of their gear was questionable at best, most of it salvaged from rotten bodies or downed darkspawn which made it that much more unsettling to lug around but they had little choice in the matter. Maxwell had taxed them to pick up anything that might come in handy in the future, whether it was the filthy clothing they took off the corpses, scraps of armor and weapons, or even various tools like shovels, hammers and the like. There was always a strong hunch that Maxwell had in the pit of his stomach, telling him they would be stuck here for quite some time and he wasn't about to leave anything potentially useful behind. Naturally, that meant they couldn't move as quickly as he wanted to and had to rest more often; a necessary sacrifice.

After dropping his two heavy packs filled to bursting with weapons wrapped with heavy winter clothing, Maxwell sat on a large rock in the middle of the temporary camp the group had formed and looked around, doing a body count to make sure nobody was left behind. Forty two people in total, he thought with a familiar sense of relief that came every time he made sure that everyone was still safe and present. Even Francis came into the camp soon after they had stopped, supporting himself with a thick branch he fashioned into some sort of crutch this past morning. Maxwell had to hand it to him, he was one tough son of a gun, he even managed to lug around a pack with the broadsword they found him with and a few extra weapons he picked out from their largely rusty communal arsenal. Emma and Richard were doing their rounds to make sure any and all wounds were properly taken care off; at least, as much as their situation allowed.

"This might be the first sunny day we've had since we got here, I hope the skies remain clear after sundown too." The familiar voice of his wife sounded next to him as she plopped down onto the rock beside him, breathing a little heavily from the strain of the voyage.

"I'm hopin' we can find a good vantage point while there's still light out. We're just prancin' around blindly without a solid plan and direction right about now." Maxwell replied, still surveying the camp and the assigned sentries that had fanned out to form a perimeter. They were starting to get the hang of it now, especially Yves, a nearly seven foot tall mountain of a man whom he had appointed to be the captain of the guard, so to speak. Roughly a dozen men alternated between guard duty and carrying extra gear; strong men all of them if a little undisciplined. None of them had any real military training to speak off but they had proven their combat prowess often enough during the last week. Maxwell hoped they wouldn't have to prove themselves again.

"Alexia's little archer squad has been pretty good with hunting down small game so we're alright with supplies for now. But forty people, Maxwell, we can't keep them fed for very long." Leah trailed off, leaving the remainder of her statement nearly implied. She had advocated the separation of the group into several smaller ones, all fanning out in different directions with the intent of meeting at an assigned spot, weeks later. Maxwell knew she was probably hoping most of them wouldn't make it on their own, thus easing the passage for those who were stronger and more capable. It was foolhardy, they needed everyone and splitting up would always leave a few groups without either a tracker, medic or enough guards. They had already had that argument and he wasn't about to rehash it by arguing with her again.

"We'll make it work, Leah. If Alexia and the others managed to stay alive for a month, we can too."

Leah opened her mouth to argue, but sighed heavily instead and looked away. "I hope you're right, for all of our sakes." Her gaze settled on Francis and Emma who seemed to be on his case for something once again; she sure spent a lot of time fussing over his wounds and chastising him like a delinquent child. Leah scoffed at the sight with a sarcastic half smile and leaned back onto her palms to look up at the sunlit sky that was somewhat visible through the thick tree branches above them.

"At least he's makin' friends round here. Wouldn't hurt ya to talk to some folks yerself. Plenty of good people travelin' with us, Leah, give them a shot."

"Gosh, Maxwell, I'm not interested in making friends, I will settle for not getting torn apart by one of those things chasing us. If you feel like chatting up the little nurse girl, be my guest but you better hurry or Francis will beat you to the punch. Again." Dark and moody as usual, that was his Leah. Too bad they didn't find any alcohol lying around; Leah was much more tolerable with a few drinks in her. Their seven year marriage had about six months of bliss before it all turned sour and a lot of it he knew was his fault but she had stopped trying a long time ago, settling to merely coast through life and focus on her career. Sometimes he felt his deployments in high risk zones inside Afghanistan or Iraq were less hostile than their own home.

"We move in an hour, get some rest while ya can. It could be a long journey before we find, well, anything." With that Maxwell stood up and left, letting Leah seethe in silence. There was no talking to her when she was even mildly upset and the past week had been more than a little upsetting for all of them. It would be great if she could support him without questioning his every decision but he knew that would likely remain just a fool's hope.

Maxwell made his rounds, checking up on the sentries and exchanging a few words with Yves. The tall man was the strong and silent type as well as a Frenchman and his English was basic at best but he seemed to understand everything that was expected of him and his men. He merely nodded at most commands or responded with one word answers but he seemed to take his duties very seriously; good thing that, since they very much were. When he was finished, he found himself near Francis once again and the man seemed extra fidgety now, gripping his broadsword tightly while gazing into the same direction, directly along the path they were following, for what seemed over a few minutes.

"Ya seein' something I should know about?" Maxwell said as he stepped next to Francis but got no response. Nothing moved in that direction, the forest was peaceful, even the chirping of birds could only be heard far off into the distance. "Francis." He tried again, a little louder now. Still nothing. Losing his patience, Maxwell nudged his uninjured shoulder and stepped almost in front of him to look into his eyes. "Dang it man, snap out of it! What's got ya so spooked?"

Francis' eyes seemed to snap out from a trance when he was nudged and he looked at Maxwell as if he was seeing him for the first time. There was definitely some fear still lingering in his expression, like a wild animal that was just released back into the wild. "Nothing… I think. I just feel something, it's hard to explain, like a presence." His gaze fell back onto the road ahead, following the small rumbling creek that had served them as the only water source so far. "We should change our course, Maxwell, this one seems… Wrong."

That was just wonderful, first the man's body gets battered to hell and back and now his mind is starting to slip. Like he hadn't been enough of a burden to the group so far. Well, as long as he wasn't dangerous to anyone around, Maxwell would have to tolerate his weird fears and hunches.

"This here direction is the only one goin' uphill and we need ta get to high ground if we ever plan on getting' out of this here forest."

"You've had the dreams too, haven't you, Maxwell? I saw you walking around the camp before first light this morning and I heard you trashing around in your sleep way before that. I'm wondering whether we're seeing the same thing." The fear was gone from Francis' eyes and only cool calculation remained but he was right on the mark with his assumption as Maxwell had been plagued by vivid dreams for as long as they've been here.

"I've spent several years on the front lines of every shithole y' can imagine, Francis. Yer damn right I have nightmares, it comes with the territory. Maybe you'd like to tell me about yer dreams though, seein' how you seem to think they have some sort of meanin'." Not a bad response, he should buy that. No way in hell was Maxwell about to share his weird nightmares with this guy. What would be next, the two of them kicking back a few cold beers?

Francis smirked and began wrapping his broadsword with a few torn, drity shirts before placing it back into his pack. "I have to make myself a scabbard for this thing…"

"Look here man, if ya thing ya know something I need you ta speak up, y'hear?"

"I told you what I think, big man, change the course or we'll be in a world of hurt sooner than you think. There is a whole group of those things that went ahead of us and they are still unaccounted for, at least fifty of them from what I could tell. Do you really want to play the numbers game if we run into them further ahead?"

"Yeah, we have yer word and a few tracks to support yer claim. Hardly enough for me ta abandon the only reasonable course of action available to us, so I'm askin' you again, do you have another reasonable idea or are ya just spooked because ya had a few bad dreams?"

Maxwell slung his pack over his healthy shoulder, adjusted his crutch and started limping upstream along the creek. "I really hope I'm wrong, big man, I really do."

Frowning angrily, Maxwell barked out orders for the camp to move out once again. Most of them were ready to move already, almost eager by the looks on their faces. He couldn't blame them, they had a clear objective for once and were eager to see it fulfilled even if it might not be of any help in the end. He found his stuff where he had left it but Leah was gone, no doubt already at the forefront of the group, waiting in silence. The camp moved when Maxwell appeared at their head and the guards had positioned themselves on the flanks and the rear, with Yves walking at the very back of the column.

Maxwell knew there was some truth to Francis's words, even if it was just a hunch or naturally occurring panic but it wasn't fear he felt. Just that slight tinge of nervous expectation, almost eagerness, combined with the residue of bloodlust from his vivid nightmare within the crimson mist.


	7. Chapter 7 - Before The Storm

„Halt!" Maxwell's voice echoed off the sides of the nearby rock face they had reached shortly before sunset and reverberated all around the tired and hungry band of survivors. „We camp here tonight! Yves, set your men up around the camp, decent spread this time and no fires. Two hour shifts for everyone, go!" The large man nodded quietly and set off, followed by half a dozen of his appointed guards to take up strategic positions around the camp.

Francis dropped his gear down where he stood and plopped down onto the ground, exhausted and in fair amount of pain from the trip. His wounds didn't reopen from what he could tell but the pain was getting unbearable by the end of the trip and his injured knee was starting to swell to the size of a melon. The crutch helped a good deal but he was forced to climb over uneven terrain for a few hours after Maxwell suddenly decided to move away from the small woodland stream they had been following. Francis wasn't sure whether Maxwell had listened to his warning or just saw something the others didn't during their search for a high vantage point. Either way, they had finally stopped so Francis found a cozy tree to prop himself against and rubbed his knee in the attempt to alleviate some pain. It wasn't really working but simply going through the motions was somewhat calming and Francis could certaily use a relaxing moment or two. Before he could get in rhythm he saw Emma stomping toward him, an all too familiar scowl contorting her otherwise delicate face. So much for relaxation. Without so much as a word to him, Emma knelt down beside his legs, slapped his hands away from the injured and began undoing the bandages to inspect the injury.

„I'm sure there are other people who could use your expertise right about now, Emma. I'm doing just fine, a little sore but that's to be expected after a day long march like we've had."

She ignored him and only graced with a brief, acknowledging „mm-hm", before continuing her inspection in silence. After finishing up, she leaned against the towering cliff behind them and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Francis hadn't noticed it before but fatigue seemed to take its toll on her even more so than any of the others, which was a plainly visible now in her sunken eyes, pale complexion and overall sluggish movement. He considered saying something, ask her how she's doing perhaps but he knew she was just about as prideful as he was, which meant she would never admit to weakness, no matter how much it hurt on the inside. Without a word he took out a sizable waterskin stitched from blackened leather and passed it to her; she definitely looked like she could use it. She took it lazily and angled it to take several solid gulps in a way that one might do when they hadn't realized how thirsty they truly were. She exhaled heavily after drinking and passed the waterskin back to Francis.

"Thanks. I was so preoccupied with everyone staying safe that I forgot to take care of myself. Ah shit, it wouldn't be the first time." She trailed off with a light chuckle that ultimately caused her to cough slightly. "Ugh, I can't be getting sick now, not in this place. Anyhow, I overheard you and Maxwell talking about some strange shit this morning, something about dreams or what not. What's that about?"

"Nosy aren't you?" Francis said with a tired grin, still leaning his head on the tree trunk. "I just had a bad feeling about going the same way upstream, nothing more than a hunch, really. The dreams were a different thing, kinda freaky to be honest but I don't know what to make of them. I've had strange dreams before, especially after lighting up one too many doobies but this was something else, almost an outside of the body type experience." He expected her to laugh, call him a pothead or anything mockery-related as seemed to be her style but she merely nodded, prompting him to continue.

"It's all a fog but it doesn't fade like a normal dream would over time. I can remember it vividly even though I'm not quite clear of what _it_ is, exactly."

"I've seen others struggling with their sleep, mainly the ones that took a beating in combat but I signed it off to a form of ptsd. It would make perfect sense for you to be suffering from it since you took more punishment than the rest of us combined almost."

"I thought about it Emma, but I don't think that's what it is. I'd have flashbacks to the trauma and wake up screaming in the night but I actually slept quite well. It's just that these dreams or visions seem to stick with me long after I'm awake and I keep replaying them over and over in my mind, trying to make sense of it all."

"Tell me then, what did you see? Maybe we can puzzle it out together." She folded her legs under her and leaned in towards him, supporting herself with her arms on her knees.

"It… It's like a random series of loosely or completely unconnected images but the visual part isn't all that matters. I feel so many different things with each image, feelings that almost seem like they belong to someone else. Ugh, I know it doesn't make any sense but I know the emotions and images are connected somehow but it's still far from being clear to me. Maybe it will become more apparent in time."

"Mhm, that does sound like a bad acid trip more than an actual prophetic dream but this place has been weird enough as it is, so I won't go around dismissing shit others are going through just because it doesn't make sense."

"No offense but you look like you haven't slept a wink either, something bugging you in the dream world?"

Emma scoffed and laughed it off with a wave of her hand as she leaned back onto the cliffside once again. "Nah, I'm just a spoiled brat and I'm having trouble sleeping on these crappy excuses for beds we have made. That and I worry about everyone here constantly, an infection can kill just as easily as one of these swords and God knows we don't have the ideal treatment conditions to avoid them. So far so good though." She appeared to be a little more relaxed now, knowing that everyone was probably going to be alright, despite the overwhelming odds pointing to the opposite. Hardass as she may be, Emma was still a very caring person and Francis had no doubt that she has never had anyone die on her watch just yet. Hopefully, that wouldn't change anytime soon.

Francis nodded sympathetically and pulled his pack closer to take out his remaining rations, a piece of charred meat belonging to some woodland rodent, a moldy piece of bread he had hoped he could avoid and a variety of berries that one of Alexia's companions shared with the camp. He wasn't sure how edible the berries were but what the hell, he was hungry enough to risk it all. He paused before eating and extended his arm towards Emma, indicating that she should help herself to anything she wishes but she merely shook her head.

"I've got some in my pack, thanks." With that said, she took her rations out, an equally unappetizing combination of meat, bread and berries, and began eating. They sat there in silence, eating as politely as their immense hunger would allow, which didn't always mean much. Right after they finished Francis wanted to make some snide comment at how unladylike Emma was, chewing with her mouth open but she spoke first, pointing to something behind him. "I think you've got company, dude."

Francis turned around to see Alexia standing there, her bow propped against her right shoulder and holding another one in her left hand. She tossed the bow to him and motioned him to follow. "Let's go Hobblesworth, I've got a few tricks I want you to learn if you're to be any good to us in battle."

He caught the bow and turned back to Emma with a puzzled look on his face but she just shrugged her shoulders, obviously not knowing what the strange woman wanted. Francis swallowed the last bite of his food, propped himself up with the aid of his sturdy crutch and limped on behind Alexia, trying to keep up.

"So, ehh, are you planning to teach me how to use this thing or what?" He breathed while trying to catch up with her. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it but night will be falling soon and I'm not sure how well I can hit things that I can't see."

There was no response but he hadn't really expected any from her. She was as tightlipped as the first time they spoke. Once again, they reached a small clearing where she turned to face him before tossing him a few practice arrows, which were essentially just sharpened sticks, enough to take down a bird or a squirrel but nothing bigger. Then she turned to face her target, a soft-looking tree root covered with thick green moss and went through the motions of aiming and firing from a bow, describing each motion as she did it.

"To draw quickly, draw from the hip, not the back; you're not Legolas and this is no movie. Second, nock the arrow onto the string without looking at the string, the feeling will come in time, all it takes is practice. Third, pull in a smooth but strong motion, back straight, chest out and elbow up. Fourth, never let your target leave your sight, if the target is in motion, follow its movements with the bow instead of trying to predict where it's going to be. Finally, always pause for a moment before realeasing unless you want your arrow to fly off randomly from the force of your initial pull. Everything clear? Good, now try it."

Yeesh, there was no messing around with that one, detailed and straight to the point. The bow felt a little awkward to him unlike the sword but he had shot one as a kid many times for fun, so this should be too much of a stretch. He did his best to repeat the movements just as she had demonstrated and let an arrow fly, hitting the ground, slightly to the left of the intended target.

"Not bad for a first try. Unfortunately for you, the difference between not bad and an actual hit is life and death." She said with a cold, distant voice. "Again!"

He repeated the motions and exhaled just as he released, hitting much closer to the mossy root. Almost there but he'd still be dead with that shot according to Alexia.

Again and again he shot the practice arrows, stopping only to retrieve them before starting right back up again. After the first arrow hit its mark, he found it increasingly easier to hit it repeatedly and his arms ached from the strain by the time Alexia stopped him, calling it a night.

"You did well, I figured you'd have the talent. In any case, you'd be dead in seconds if you fought hand to hand so you'll be sticking with my squad in the back if things go sour."

"Do you know something I don't? We haven't seen a sign of those things for days but you're acting like they're about to jump out of the woodwork."

"I'm always expecting the worst, Limpy, that's why I'm alive. If you prove yourself useful, you'll stay alive too." She left the threat unspoken, or was that just a statement of facts? You don't fight, you die, that's the rule of nature.

Francis inspected his bow again and picked up a quiver with roughly two dozen arrows, fastening it on his left hip for quick access like she showed him. Night had already fallen long ago and he was no longer able to fight off his exhaustion and despite all the information he still wanted to milk out her somehow, he decided it was time to hit the sack.

"I'll be turning in Alex, thanks for the pointers. Are we repeating this practice session tomorrow or did you have something else in mind? Spear throwing, perhaps? Animal skinning tutorial? One hundred ways to build a fire in the wilds?" Alexia wasn't amused so she merely sat down onto her improvised bedroll, next to her enviable weapon collection protruding from the opened pack nearby.

"You know enough, the rest is just practice. I can show you how to make arrows at some point but for now, make sure you're good enough not to stick one of us instead of the enemy." Having said that, she laid down, hands behind her head and gazed up into the trees standing in the way of the clear night sky.

Francis took the cue and left, making his way back to his spot in the camp set right against the towering cliffside. Emma was still there, leaning on tree like she was before he had left, only now she was fast asleep, breathing the deep breaths of sleep wrought by utter exhaustion. It was a little chilly but Francis wasn't feeling like building a fire and risking waking Emma up, so he merely covered her with a ragged heavy coat and laid down to catch a few winks without nightmares, hopefully. People were still bustling around the camp but the noise didn't bother him, he was too tired and too sore to mind anything right about now. He noticed Leah attempting to climb one of the taller trees adjacent to the cliffside while muttering to herself angrily. Maxwell was nearby as well, watching over her like a loyal hound, a hound that just had his ear chewed up by the angry mistress. Francis couldn't tell what the point of her climb was but he could scarcely keep his eyelids open any longer so he gave in and drifted off into deep slumber.

* * *

Heavy rain pelted his face and metallic clanks echoed all around him from the droplets hitting his armor and the armor of his comrades in arms. There was a bow in his hand, a quiver on his back and a sword fastened across his lower back but he stared forward, into the foggy distance. He strained his eyes against the rain but he couldn't see very far in this watery deluge. The sound of a commanding voice echoed around him but he couldn't make up what the command was so he looked around at the blurry shapes of his comrades. In unison they all nocked an arrow into their bows and drew, holding that position, no doubt awaiting the final order to fire. Francis did the same, though with far less finesse and trained smoothness, still struggling to see what the intended target was. Commands echoed all around him now, from different sources in various locations and heights. There must have been towers and walls filled with men all around him but he couldn't see them, only the sick downpour and the men by his side.

That was when he saw the fires. Dozen at first, torches most likely until a hundred more appeared, then a thousand and they kept coming like a stark contrast to the heavy rain seemed to have no effect on the approaching embers. Fear started creeping into him now, that silent dread that accompanied him constantly during his waking hours had now been amplified significantly with the sudden realization that he was standing at the front lines, awaiting to take the brunt of the coming attack. His arms started shaking, his vision faltered as he lowered his bow and took a step back, bumping into a fellow soldier who said something to him, words of encouragement, no doubt. With nowhere to go, Francis faced forward again and drew the arrow, awaiting the command.

"Attack!"

The command was so clear, much clearer than anything else in the dream so he let loose on instinct and drew again while readjusting his aim. The wall of fire faltered for a moment but came on even faster and he could see the shapes of the creatures barreling on towards them.

"Form up! Form up, they're coming!"

The voice was crystal clear again, familiar even but he couldn't place it, not with a legion of monsters rapidly closing the distance to him. He let loose the second arrow and nocked a third, then a fourth, on and on until he could see the lifeless eyes and bloodied fangs of the monsters rushing to take his life.

"Get up, goddamnit! **Get Up**!"

Francis snapped back into reality just as before the first blade was about to bury itself into his flesh. He was panting heavily and sweat covered him from head to toe. Then something struck him hard across the face and he rounded on the wide eyed Emma who was gripping his shirt with one hand while drawing the other back for another hit.

"Emma, what the f… What's going on?"

"We're under attack you idiot! Get your ass **up**!"


	8. Chapter 8 - Killing Grounds

„Line up! **Line up!"** Maxwell was screaming at the top of his lungs, trying to surpass the screams of panic coming from everyone around the camp. „Form a semicircle, archers in the back, Yves, you guys stand in front!" The guardsmen were surprisingly good under pressure, a few of them even managing to throw some armor on before forming the semicircle, as commanded. The rest of the people were pouring in, making their way past the first line, some men standing with the guardsmen, ready to fight. They were all terrified though, despite having fought once before, everyone was on the edge and it wouldn't take much to push them past their limit into full blown panic.

„Alexia! Have your squad start shooting once they funnel into the clearing in front of us!" Roughly ten archers; that was all they had to thin the enemy's superior numbers before they reached them. It wasn't much but the terrain favored them here as there was only one real way to reach the now entrenched group, through a narrow pass that opened up to the wide cliffside they had backed up against. The truth was that they got lucky and one of Alexia's hunters spotted a darkspawn scout and took him down from a distance, later reporting that a sizable group was steadily moving up on them from the side. Two more similar reports came from two of his guardsmen, both coming from different directions. There was little doubt that they were surrounded and backed into a wall, with enemy numbers being almost twice their own. Not to mention that many people weren't really able to fight, so it really came down to his guardsmen and Alexia's archers. Francis was limping past him now, clutching a bow and making his way towards the archers who were stabbing arrows in front of them for faster delivery. He scoffed as his gaze returned to surveying the men. Figures that coward wouldn't stand at the front lines.

„Yves, how long until they reach us?" He shouted to the burly man, now covered by a rusty helmet and carrying a large makeshift wooden shield that looked like it weighed far too much to be usable, but then again, Yves was no weakling.

"Few minutes! They come together, all at once!" Yves' accent made him hard to understand at times but luckily his answers were always simple and concise.

"Let them come to us and whatever happens, don't break the line!" Those things were bloodthirsty brutes, he had fought them before and they all used sheer ferocity to overcome an opponent, never trickery or tactics. This was different though, Maxwell had underestimated them and it could cost them all their lives. He shook his head and began finishing up his preparations, which included lining his arms with various pieces of discarded metal armor and fastening a sword and dagger around his waist, just in case he loses his large mallet in the heat of the battle. When he finished he gave his wife one final encouraging glance but she wasn't paying attention. Leah was testing the tautness of her bow among the archers, her face surprisingly cold and focused. It took a lot to scare that woman and they still hadn't encountered it.

Maxwell's gaze snapped back towards the forest when he heard a blood curdling scream from one of the darkspawn that emerged into sight. The thing was in full metal armor that was either rusted, coated with blood or both. It had perched its giant axe into the air as it roared, urging the rest of the creatures onward. Maxwell whispered a mental note to himself: "Kill that one first."

The darkspawn advanced in unison from two sides but they were forced to funnel into the narrowing pass or they risked exposing their flanks to archer fire for an extended period of time. Maxwell could hear Alexia yelling at their squad to remain steady, they weren't close enough yet for them to pick apart with acceptable accuracy and arrows were a commodity they could ill afford to waste now. The darkspawn picked up speed as they steadily ran out of room to maneuver and very soon, there was a piercing shout of command from Alexia.

"Loose!"

Arrows flew into the oncoming horde and thinned out the first rows but it didn't seem to slow them down much as others clawed their way past their fallen comrades and pressed on, howling in rage. More volleys struck the incoming darkspawn, far more than Maxwell had expected from the novice archers but he wasn't about to complain as he needed all the help he could get. The armored leader was nowhere near the front lines just yet as he had hoped, thinking that these creatures establish a pecking order based on brute strength and combat prowess. He underestimated them once and he wouldn't do it again.

Maxwell moved to the front of the semi-circle, ready to face the first attackers head on and lead the charge that would pin them inside the narrow pass, negating their superior numbers while the archers picked away at them. It was a solid plan that could only be ruined if the darkspawn had a fair share of archers as well but so far, none had appeared. They were almost out of the pass now, jumping and trampling over their fallen without remorse, without mercy.

"Ready!" Maxwell yelled and settled into a fighting stance, low at the knees with his mallet firmly grasped in his strong hands. The others mimicked him, their faces contorted in a mixture of intensity and fear but they readied their wide variety of weapons to meet the incoming assault.

"Charge!" Maxwell screamed out at the top of his lungs and took off as fast as his legs would carry him and slamming his giant weapon into the first unfortunate creature that stood in his way. Next to him he heard wild thuds of bodies hitting bodies and clang of steel, followed by dying howls and pained screams from both sides. There was no time to look around, more enemies came on to meet them and he swung his mallet wildly in circles, clearing a wide arc in front of him that few dared to cross, lest they end up with a shattered skull. This could work; it certainly could, he thought, as he saw arrows pelting the darkspawn in the rear, minimizing the risk of hitting one of their own. It was an admirable effort from Alexia's squad and hopefully it would be enough to force the beasts back before his men suffered too many losses. Just as he was starting to feel hopeful he heard screams from the rear, where the archers and non-combatants were.

* * *

"Archers! Archers on our flank! Take cover!" Alexia yelled as she jumped behind a large tree moments before several arrows whizzed past. Two of her archers lay dead on the ground with black arrows protruding from their still twitching bodies while the others followed her lead and jumped into cover. Maxwell's eyes opened wide in terror; how could they have gotten past everyone without being noticed? He made the motion to run towards the pinned archers when a devastating strike knocked him clean off his feet, shattering the handle of his mallet that likely just saved his life. The metal clad darkspawn loomed over him, swinging his axe in momentum to set up another strike, its mouth contorted into a grin of bloodlust in expectation of the upcoming kill.

"Leave them!" Francis screamed at Emma while holding her back inside the relative safety of cover. "There's nothing you can do, leave them!" There was no reasoning with her now, she pushed and clawed like a wild beast to reach the two fallen women so Francis cursed to himself and rolled towards the corpses to drag them into cover. It was no easy effort and it earned him a deep cut on the right calf but soon, Emma and him had the unfortunate souls behind a line of trees and rocks. Right away, Emma began working on one of them frantically, feeling for the pulse, attempting to stop the bleeding and beginning cpr. Franics let her work, there were more important issues to address at that moment. He crawled over to Alexia who was pinned behind the tree, only managing to shoot back every once in a while without risking too much exposure.

"We have to take them down! How many did you count?" He yelled while looking around in hopes of finding a way to use the terrain to their advantage.

"Seven by my count, no more!" Alexia replied and loosed another arrow that seemed to hit its mark as the creature howled in pain before falling out of sight. "Six."

"Separate your squad in two. One to assist Maxwell and the others down there and one to keep the archers off our ass, I have a plan."

She nodded and assigned the remaining archers to their tasks as Francis limped off, as fast as he could, back towards his part of the camp, propped against the cliffside. Once there he picked up his stretcher that dubbed as a bedroll, broke and folded it in half while wrapping it heavy leather Emma had in her pack to cut off circulation and immobilize wounds. It wasn't much of a shield but it was the best he could do for now, so he made his way back towards Alexia.

"When I give the word, give me as much cover fire as you can! I'll draw them to me and give you enough time to close the distance and take them out from up close, got it?" Alexia was nodding before he was halfway through, obviously picking up on his plan right away. Francis certainly wasn't best suited to make that charge but he found that he was rather horrible with the bow so his cover fire would be a wasted effort. He steeled himself, while behind cover and waited for Alexia to start a concentrated counterattack. It was almost a shame to waste so many precious arrows on targets that were in such deep cover but they had to buy him some time, a few seconds at least to push his way through to their position. What would he do then? Cut them all down like some mythical hero from a fantasy novel? Highly unlikely, but hopefully, he would manage to keep the occupied long enough for Alexia's squad to take them out from up close.

"Go, now!" Alexia yelled and in unison, her archers let loose on the enemy position. It was hard to tell whether they hit anything but Francis wasn't thinking about that at the moment.

With a pained groan, he heaved himself off the ground and sped past the engaged archers, using his modified stretcher as a shield for any incoming arrows; and come they did. Roughly half way to the enemy group he felt three arrows sink into his makeshift shield, all but one punching a solid hole through the thin protection. No injuries yet but his luck couldn't last very long in this position. Instead of taking them head on as he had planned, Francis dashed towards the nearest foot-wide tree and used it for cover, waiting for another volley from Alexia. This one seemed to be a bit more effective since he heard one of the creatures shriek in pain, obviously caught unawares while it was focusing fully on Francis' charge.

"Five." He mouthed silently and rolled around the tree to charge at them once again, now sprinting as fast as his injured legs would allow. His line of sight was mostly blocked by the shield which he held firmly in front of him, so it almost took him by surprise when he barreled into one of the enemy archers at full speed, knocking it down square on its back. There was no time to be surprised, however, as two blades flashed as they left their scabbards on either side of him, seeking to sever his head from his shoulders. Out of reflex he threw the makeshift shield at the creature on the left and ducked a moment too slow to completely avoid the second blade, which managed to scrape a fair portion of hair and skin on the right side of his head. He felt the pain but adrenalin had kicked in long ago and the cut registered only as a feeling of blunt contact. As he ducked, Francis drew one of Alexia's daggers she was kind enough to give him and thrust it in the right side of the creature's chest, where he hoped the heart would be. Faintly, head battle cries from the archers behind him, no doubt rushing in to make use of the temporary confusion Francis had incurred on the creatures. He turned around to face the remaining three darkspawn still on their feet, only to find the one had thrown the shield at, lying on the ground with an arrow in its neck. His prone friend was scrambling to his feet but it would be too late as Francis was already drawing his broadsword to finish it off, hoping the others would take care of the others who were left standing.

It was wishful thinking, of course as an arrow burrowed itself deep into Francis' hip before he could close the distance between him and the prone foe. Unlike the first blow, he felt the pain in his hip quite vividly, as it no doubt scraped the top part of his hip bone but luck was on his side again. Just before the creature could pelt him with more arrows, Alexia came charging into their midst, slashing with her two curved swords like some heroic elven war maiden one could only read about. It was far from graceful a graceful attack though; quick as she may be, it was clear she wasn't as good with the blades as she was with the bow so the entirety of her attack was based on her ferocity. Naturally, she wouldn't have lasted very long on her own but the rest of her squad was only a few strides behind and the creatures were quickly overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Without hesitation, Francis knocked the now rising darkspawn's blade out of its hand, before plunging the broad blade into its chest until life left it and only a twitching dark carcass remained.

"Francis!" Alexia yelled when she saw him bend down in pain from his new injury. "Claire, bring Emma here, he's been hit!" She yelled at the short, dark haired woman next to her but Francis reached up with his hand and waved her off.

"We have no time for that, get back to the pass, they can't keep it without your archers. Go, I'll be fine!" Francis retorted through his gritting teeth as he tried to keep the pain at bay. Alexia nodded somewhat coldly and took off without a word, the rest of her squad following behind.

Francis knew he was in trouble and he didn't need the puddle of blood forming around his feet to know that. The arrow had gone through completely, which was the only good thing about getting struck like some game animal in rural Montana. He took a few quick, intense breaths before snapping the back end of the arrow and winced as even more intense pain overwhelmed him. There was no time to lose though, so he quickly yanked the remainder of the arrow protruding from the back of his hip and ripped a portion of his long sleeved shirt off to bandage it up as best he could. That was no easy feat since he couldn't really cut off the circulation, like he could if he had gotten hit in a limb. He wrapped the torn cloth around his waist, tightened it as much as he possibly could and sat back against a tree while holding the pressure on the two puncture wounds as best he could. He had had worse; no way this was going to take him out for good so he pressed harder, almost like he wanted to will the wound to stop bleeding through sheer anger.

Minutes had passed as he sat there, blood covering the side of his head and formed a large wet spot around his injured hip. It felt like minutes at least but it could have been a few seconds; it was hard to tell in these stressful situations. He tried looking at the main battlefield but his line of sight was covered completely, so all he had to go on were the sounds of clanging metal and shrieks of pain and death. At least they were still fighting, he knew that much. He took a deep breath and relaxed a bit against the tree but a faint rumbling noise attracted his attention towards the other side, from where the darkspawn archers had come. It was far off in the distance, among the trees, but he could recognize another team of those monsters coming his way. He thought about moving to flee but sharp pain reminded him that wasn't going to happen. The best he could do is play dead and hope the darkspawn weren't very thorough in their killing.

* * *

Maxwell did his best to duck and evade the brutal swings of the armored darkspawn's axe but with every second he was running out of room to maneuver in and the creature hadn't presented him with a single opportunity for a counterattack just yet. He almost wanted to scream for help but all of his men still standing were fighting a desperate battle to hold that line and they were in no position to aid him. With an angry grunt he backed away once more, dodging a diagonal swing of the axe and snapped back at the darkspawn leader, hoping he would be fast enough to overcome the momentum of the heavy weapon. Instead of following through with the swing, the creature forced it into a halt halfway through and rammed the back of it into Maxwell's head, sending him sprawling to the ground once again.

His head was ringing from the impact and his limbs belt heavy, struggling to keep the grip on the sword in his hand. Anger flared up inside him, like it had so many times before when he had gotten into fights; it fueled him to keep fighting even when the better option was to turn tail and run. Maxwell was no runner though, not now, not ever. With a primal scream he sprang to his feet and charged the darkspawn leader, knocking its large axe to the side, opening it up for a classic football tackle he was so fond off. Like his glory days in college, he slammed into the creature and took it down hard; even that thick metal armor wouldn't help it a whole lot against a tackle that strong. The creature wouldn't relent; however, as it reached for Maxwell's head, obviously trying to inflict as much damage as possible with its serrated metal gauntlets. That was too obvious though, and Maxwell had anticipated it well beforehand so he reached for a dagger, strapped on the flat of his lower back and bore it down towards the visor of the thing's helmet with all his might. The darkspawn mauled his arms brutally but was still pushed back, inch by inch until the dagger began sinking into its flesh, only an inch or two at first, before its hands relaxed forever and Maxwell had plunged it all the way down.

Just as he was about to stand up and roar victoriously, a heavy boot hit him square in the chest and sent him tumbling backwards. The darkspawn had pushed through the line of his guards and he was the only one standing, or rather, sitting, between them and the innocents who were unable to fight. Where the hell was Alexia and her squad? They had fared well enough with their support but without them, it was merely a matter of time before they were overrun. He wanted to react but his limbs didn't react quickly enough to stand the already descending blade of the blood-soaked creature in front of him. He reached up desperately, to at least shield his face from the brunt of the blow but the blow never came, as a volley of arrows took out the incoming darkspawn who punched through the line of defenders. Finally, they had finally returned. Maxwell had no idea what kept them occupied for so long but he had more pressing matters to attend to. He propped himself up with the aid of his sword, still breathing heavily from the blow and charged into the opening to prevent more of the creatures from coming through.

The battle had certainly taken a toll on him but he fought with renewed vigor when he noticed the darkspawn lines faltering; both from renewed pressure of the supporting archers and the sight of their downed leader. They could experience fear after all, or were at least susceptible to some sort of morale failure; good to know, Maxwell thought as he swung his blade methodically, pushing the creatures back deeper into the pass.

It took some time but soon, the darkspawn's fury relented and they inevitably turned to run, finding themselves obviously outmaneuvered and outmatched. Maxwell scanned the battlefield to assess their losses; most men bore some sort of wounds, at least six lay unmoving on the ground, their faces contorted into a mask of pain frozen by the effects of rigor mortis. Several were bleeding quite badly, Yves included, and good ole doc Richard was already fussing over them, disregarding his own injuries. Emma would no doubt follow soon enough.

"Well fought, guys. I'm sorry we got a little sidetracked but those things sent archers to flank us, I lost two of my squad in the process. How's it looking here?" Alexia said, walking down from the small rise where she and her archers were positioned. There were no visible wounds on her or the rest of her squad apart from a few cuts and bruises. Leah, followed in her step and a great weight fell of Maxwell's chest when he saw his wife unharmed. He ignored Alexia for the moment and took his wife into a firm embrace that she returned but released sooner than he would have wanted.

"I'm so glad yer alright, Leah. I was worried outa my mind when I saw y'all were gone, what happened?"

"More of those things tried to surprise us from the side and took out two of us before we could fight back. Emma was trying to help them the last time I saw her but I don't think there was much to be done at that point."

Francis nodded and looked at the archers, all women but they had proven their toughness tenfold today. Someone was missing though. "Francis! Where is he? I swear, if that no good coward hid while y'all were fightin'…"

Alexia stepped in and cut him off with her usual cold, yet firm tone. "He took most of the punishment for us, if he hadn't charged in to distract those things we would have been pinned down a whole lot longer. He's torn up pretty badly though and someone should see to his wounds."

Maxwell nodded silently and called two of his men who suffered the least injuries to go look for him and carry him back if need be but before they could set out, Francis came limping out of the nearby thicket, completely covered with dark blood. Maxwell stared in amazement, there was no way all of that was his blood but it was hard to tell.

"No need for a rescue mission ladies and gents, I'll be alright." Francis said, trying not to grunt too much from the pain.

"What… happened to ya, man?" Maxwell said, still dumbfounded at the bloody sight of the limping man. "Y'look like ya took a bath in a pool o'blood!"

"I'll be happy to give you a full report general, sir." Francis said with obvious sarcasm and a weak, forced smile on his face. "If you don't mind, first I'd like to get cleaned up and have someone who isn't a complete idiot like me, look at my wounds." He limped his way past Maxwell and over to Richard who was busy trying to quell the bleeding from a neck wound but with little success; that drove the number of dead up to seven of his men plus the two from Alexia's squad. As much as it pained Maxwell to lose men like this, they had fared quite well given the overwhelming enemy numbers. He looked down at the dead men, doing his best to commit their names to memory. He would recite a short prayer for them each night, along with the friends he lost during his military days.

"Move the wounded up towards the cliffside and treat them. We have to move as soon as we are able. There's no telling if those things that ran away will bring more down on us." The men around him nodded and got to work assisting their wounded comrades and the doc. "If anyone sees Emma, tell her we need her here asap!"

* * *

Everyone was bustling around but Alexia stood still glancing back and forth from Francis to the direction he came from, where the dead darkspawn archers lay. Something was off; he had been battered and bloody when they had left him but now… He would have to roll on a pile of corpses to look like he did now. She addressed her squad briefly, ordering them to salvage as many arrows as they could from the main battlefield. She would get what she could from the other side. There was no reason to go alone, it was probably foolish with so many of those creatures potentially lingering around but she had to see it for herself. She trudged through the thicket until she reached the dead darkspawn Francis and her squad had taken out. They were all there, just as she had left them so she got to work, removing the arrows by cutting the flesh out before she pulled them from the corpse. Most were broken or stuck inside tree trunks, rendering them useless. The darkspawn carried quivers of their own so she set on collecting those as a replacement.

Just as she was finishing up, a figure lying on the ground further away caught her eye. It had an arrow protruding from its eye but it was too far off to have been shot by one of hers, even by accident. When she reached the corpse for closer inspection she came into the full sight of a new field of carnage that shouldn't have been there. Alexia stood there, staring in amazement while trying to count the dead darkspawn; ten, no eleven dead by her count. Half were struck by arrows but the rest were cut down, a few even decapitated, all clustered around the same area. It almost looked like they were all rushing the same target. Some of them further in the back sported bows so she stripped them of any excess munitions she could find; they don't need it anymore where they're going.

While walking back she turned around for one final glance at the area; eleven dead with no real explanation. She merely shook her head, a slight smile curving on the edge of her thin lips and walked back to join her squad.


	9. Chapter 9 - Pieces Of A Dream

Francis sat patiently, trying not to wince too much as Richard did his best to fashion a hip-wide bandage for him to go along with the new one on his right left calf and a score of others he had earned on the first day. Richard worked in silence, only grumbling occasionally at the amount of work that still awaited him but he probably knew he was lucky to be alive, so he kept the complaints to himself.

„Thanks, doc." Francis said, trying to squeeze out a friendly smile for the tired veterinarian that now dubbed as a doctor. „I'll be up and about soon enough, thanks to you."

The doc gave him a sideways glance as he stood up to help with the rest of the wounded, only managing to mumble a quiet: „Yeah, somehow you will", before walking off. He acted more than slightly odd when he was working on him but then again, many things were odd at that very moment. His wound looking like it had been completely sealed with coagulated blood was one of those oddities but Francis didn't know enough about the human body to question it. People were capable of incredible feats while under extreme stress. If a mother can lift a car off her trapped child, who's to say wounds can't seal themselves in the span of an hour. Oh, if only that were the strangest thing scrambling Francis' mind at the moment.

He took a deep breath in the attempt to block the incoming thoughts that had been rushing through his mind after the battle. Instead, he focused on how he could help and looked over where he might be needed. Soon, he spotted Emma in the distance, fussing around one of the downed men over near the pass. Her movements were erratic and shaky, very much unlike her regular wild, yet composed self. With an audible grunt he stood up and began walking towards her and having a hard time deciding which leg hurt more; the right one still, yes, the right one. When he came closer he began hearing her sobs that slowly grew louder as she repeatedly compressed the man's chest with both of her hands in an effort to revive him. Francis knew there was no point as soon as he was close enough to notice the injury; a gaping slash across the chest that seemed to burrow partly into the man's ribcage. Nothing could survive that but Emma still pressed her entire weight onto the dead man with all her might, as if some sort of miracle could occur.

"Come on damnit! **Come on!"** She screamed with desperation evident in her eyes and readjusted her grip to begin slamming her fists onto the man's chest, instead of just massaging it.

"Emma…" Francis walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a little tug to snap her out of her delirious state. "Emma, he's gone."

" **No!** " She lashed back at him, her teary eyes looking up at him with fury now. "Not again, I won't let it happen again!" She resumed hitting the man's chest but all she achieved is to have blood splatter over her face and hair. Slowly but surely, she was gassed out and would have collapsed onto the floor if Francis hadn't embraced her in the last moment. "Not again, please, not again…" She kept mumbling while sobbing in his arms, seemingly unaware of what was going on around her.

"It'll be alright, Emma. He fought bravely to keep us all safe, we owe to him to let his body rest."

She wasn't responding to anything he was saying and continued repeating herself over and over again. After a while she seemed to settle down a bit and merely rocked back and forth in Francis' embrace, staring blankly ahead, into nothingness.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Francis said and tugged her arm upwards to get her up on her feet along with him. To tell the truth, he probably needed the boost more than her but she seemed so far gone that he preferred to have her within grasp in case she went ballistic or ran off. She rose in a severely hunched position with her blood soaked hair draping over her forehead and face, smudging it even more. She paused mid-rise and grabbed a thick strand of her hair to look at it in bewilderment, as if seeing it for the first time, or maybe it was the blood she was seeing just now.

"No, no…" She whispered as her grip tightened around the strand. "I want it off of me, I can't look at it." She rose to her full height, only three or four inches shorter than Francis and began pulling at other blood soaked hair strands with more fervor. "Get it off… Get it off! **Get it off!** " Emma screamed and broke free from Francis grasp to pick up a short, broken blade lying on the ground near them. Mad with a mixture of panic, anger and sorrow, she began hacking at the bloodied strands of her hair, repeating herself over and over again. "Get it off!"

Francis thought about helping and taking the blade away before she hurt herself but decided against it. Instead, he quietly led her towards a nearby fallen log and sat her down. "Let me do it, Emma. You'll make a mess if you do it yourself."

She stopped to look at him with her teary eyes and slowly passed him the blade. It seemed to be the first moment of clarity she's had in a while so he took it without a word and began doing his best to cut the remainder of her thick mane as best he could. It was no easy feat with a slightly dulled and blood-rusted blade but he doubted there were any scissors lying around for his convenience.

"I always wanted to have short hair but I could never bring myself to do it." She spoke softly, almost as if talking to herself and not him. "I guess I was too afraid of change but I'm not afraid anymore."

Francis worked in silence for quite some time, ignoring everything else around them. Emma would speak from time to time but she was never really addressing him, it seemed more of a coping mechanism than an effort at inciting social interaction. Others passed by to check on them, even Maxwell and Leah came by, worried looks on their faces but they let them be after a short explanation. They would have to move soon though, Francis knew that and he wasn't sure how ready either of them were for the ruthless rhythm Maxwell would no doubt impose. There was no choice though, they were sitting ducks for any darkspawn if they remained here and if they did return, it would truly be a last stand.

After finally cutting the final strand off, Francis threw the blade away and gently patted Emma on the back to signify he was done. She ran her hand through her hair and nodded to herself in some sort of affirmation. Her long red locks lay around them now and her new do was rather boyish but it suited her surprisingly well.

"Thanks, Francis. I'm sorry I freaked out on you back there; this is the second time in my life someone has died in my arms and I guess I wasn't prepared to deal with it. Well, more than once person died in my arms today, to be precise." She looked up at him and a weak smile formed on her face briefly as she playfully pushed his shoulder with her clenched fist. "I'll be alright, dude. Don't give me that concerned momma bear smile."

"Good, because you're of no use to anyone in that state. People rely on you around here, more than you know so keep it together, for their sake if not for yours." Francis was a little taken aback by how cold he sounded and how harsh his words were but he meant them, all of them. He had always been a pragmatist but he knew people couldn't really stand to hear that heartless rhetoric in their time of need so he followed the gentle social protocol that was the norm.

Emma seemed to be a little surprised by the tirade but her smile never wavered. "Well damn, man, you don't fuck around, huh? Fair enough, we've got shit to do and I'm not the only one with issues." She turned to walk towards the cluster of wounded men and women and sneakily jabbed Francis' ribs, the uninjured side, and grinned slyly. "Wouldn't kill ya to show some compassion to the others, ya know. We're not all robots." With that, she picked up the pace and knelt next to a bloodied man, groaning in pain from sustained injuries.

Robot, how appropriate of a word she had used just now without knowing it. Francis definitely felt like he was on autopilot during that last fight; in fact, he was still struggling with the idea that it had indeed happened and that he wasn't going insane. His mind was still rather blank in regards to the events that led him to be so battered and incapacitated at the end of the first day but this, this one was as clear as it gets. He recalled the sounds of stomping darkspawn drawing ever closer to him as he closed his eyes in an attempt to play dead. As he lay there, dead still, almost not breathing, something seemed to take over in the darkness and it felt like his body was no longer his own. Not like he wasn't in control, not really, but as if his drive, his motivations and desires had been replaced by someone or something with an incredible desire to kill. Before he knew it, he heard darkspawn passing him by, attempting to be somewhat stealthy but still keeping a fast pace.

The following series of events are where things become rather inexplicable. Instead of staying still, a sudden urge to move came over him; an urge to attack and kill everything that moved. Out of reflex, he grabbed one of the nearby darkspawn's bows and nocked and arrow from his nearly empty quiver as he stood up in one swift motion; pain barely registering in his body. Normally, he wouldn't dare try and hit a moving target at any distance but this time he barely aimed and let loose, hitting the unsuspecting darkspawn straight in the head. Before the rest of them could react, Francis downed another creature that had stopped dead in its tracks upon seeing its fallen comrade.

The remainder of them focused on him now, growling and howling like bloodthirsty beasts as they began closing the distance between them. Francis didn't run or even stand his ground, he limped on forward and loosed another arrow with each step without ever missing his intended mark. Just as he reached for the last arrow, a darkspawn had reached him and swung its large, curved blade horizontally, at his neck. He merely ducked, drew the arrow, rammed it into the back of the unbalanced creature's neck, pulled it out and shot it into the mouth of another incoming drakspawn that was almost within reach. Little less than half of them remained and they surrounded him cautiously, like a pack of wolves bearing on a dangerous prey. Francis placed his foot under a dropped, curved blade and waited patiently for the creatures to make their move. It didn't take long, these things certainly weren't known for their patience and soon, a wide shouldered darkspawn rushed Francis, attempting to catch him at his flank. Just as it raised its blade to strike, Francis thrust the fallen sword up with his leg, caught it with both hands and ran it into the thing's stomach.

Chaos ensued then as the remaining darkspawn rushed him all at once, howling for his blood. Francis had no idea how he knew when to duck, parry or strike but they all came as naturally as breathing. It was almost an out of body experience comparable only to some basketball games back in his youth when everything seemed to go his way and he was ecstatic, pushing more and more to demonstrate his dominance. There was no desire to win or prove his superiority this time, only the calm, calculated drive of a killer fighting not to survive, but to take as many lives as he could in the shortest period of time; and a short period it was indeed. Before he knew it, all eleven foes were lying in a pool of thick, dark blood. The ones unlucky enough to face him hand to hand were dismembered, decapitated or worse. There was no need for such ferocity and even though he couldn't actually feel it, there was some form of lingering hate in the back of his mind, urging him on to find more, always more of them to kill.

Francis shook his head to snap out of the memory, realizing he had been standing in the same spot where Emma had left him, staring forward blankly. He wouldn't be sharing this tale with anyone here, he wouldn't even know what to say, not to mention that nobody would believe he took out almost a dozen of those things single handedly. Francis had trouble believing the memory himself but the corpses were still there and he knew he'd know how each one of them died before he saw the bodies again.

This was pointless, he wouldn't be solving any mysteries by standing around like a totem pole so he found some water to clean his hands as best he could and trudged on back towards Emma and the wounded to offer whatever help he could give. The pain was back too and it was almost like welcoming an old friend since it meant that he was at least fully in control. The thirst for killing never went away though, he could almost hear the call, pulling him towards an unseen enemy horde.


	10. Chapter 10 - Sacrifices

The vast forest, roiling hills and sparse thickets were all starting to blend into the same blur of green, brown and grey colors as Maxwell trudged on, as he assisted with carrying Hamza, one of his guardsmen that were injured too badly to walk on their own. There were six in total who were unable to walk but even those who did were all sporting injuries that made movement rather slow to say the least. They had a direction at least, Maxwell made sure something good came out of that bloodbath that was now two days behind them. Joshua, one of the younger men that took up arms was relatively unscathed from the fight, mainly because he spent most of it trembling in a corner, so Maxwell taxed him to climb the cliffside as high as he could and find them a suitable exit from the seemingly endless valley. The kid, well he was nineteen or twenty so maybe not a kid per se, found one due north, over two hundred miles by his estimate, though that didn't mean much.

„Two hundred miles." Maxwell mumbled to himself and groaned while trying to readjust his grip on the makeshift stretcher they were carrying the now sleeping Hamza on. It was wishful thinking that they even crossed twenty in the last two days after the fight and from the looks of his dwindling band, they would have to slow down even more. Food was getting increasingly scarce and shelter was nowhere to be found, though water was plentiful enough, what with the recent downpour and all. Many had gotten sick while battling the elements, unable to find cover from the relentless rain and strong northern winds. It was as if nature itself was making it harder for them to travel north; a silly sentiment to be sure but the mind wanders to strange places when faced with such hardships.

His wife was soldiering on in silence as usual, hardly ever complaining which was one of her major character strengths he appreciated; when the going got exceptionally tough in life, she'd bite her tongue and work through the problem. This must have been getting to her though, despite being uninjured thus far, she had taken upon herself to take over a huge portion of the workload around the camp, including the hunter's duties which were doubly difficult now in this horrid weather. She was showing signs of exhaustion, way beyond what Maxwell was used to seeing, with Leah being the definition of a workaholic and all. Her eyes were glazed over and sunken, her eyelids heavy and swollen and her step was heavy, so much that it seemed like each step forward took a direct forced command from her so that she wouldn't collapse. Maxwell saw the same signs in most, if not all members of his ragged band and he had seen enough.

„Hold!" Maxwell yelled as he turned around to face the remainder of the column made up of cold, hungry, battered people. „These trees provide decent cover, we'll rest 'ere for a moment!" He strained his voice to be loud enough to carry through the sound of heavy droplets hitting the ground and nearby tree branches. He carefully set Hamza's stretcher down and Yves, the other person carrying it did the same. Maxwell glanced at Leah briefly and found her glaring at him tiredly, almost as if wanting to defy his decision to stop but after a moment or two she just sighed, set her stretcher down and sat on the wet ground if an audible thump, her weariness more than obvious.

„Josh! Find the tallest tree and see if ya can make sure we're still on the right track. While yer up there, try to find us some semblance of cover." The young man sprang to his feet, having sat down almost moments before and rushed off to obey the orders. The kid was a little jumpy but he did alright with recon, Maxwell would find uses for him as he clearly wasn't suited for frontline combat.

He aided the others to move the wounded into the best cover they could find and then huddled against a large tree with a thick, though soaked treetop and closed his eyes for a moment to focus himself. What in the world was he to do now? They wouldn't last for another two miles, let alone two hundred. Even if the rain stopped right now, so many were getting increasingly ill from the exposure to the elements that most would be unable to move in a matter of days. Some of the wounded were sick too but that was no cold he had ever seen. Three out of six of his guardsmen were displaying symptoms he had only seen in horror movies; shallow breathing, darkened veins on their necks, bloodshot eyes and the occasional uncontrollable shakes. Some were even yelling out in a sort of animalistic howl, that was the best he could describe it, a pained cry of a wounded animal but the voices were unrecognizable now, far from the men he knew. It was starting to be very obvious that he would be faced with a drastic decision very soon, a decision whether or not to ease their suffering and end their lives mercifully. Maxwell shuddered at the idea and still prayed that they would somehow get better, which would be equal to a miracle of God at this point. No, there was no point in false hope; leaders make difficult choices, that's what makes tem fit to lead in the first place.

He surveyed his surroundings and called for the doc once he spotted him hunched over one of the shaking guardsmen. "Doc! Come here for a moment when you have some time, please." The doc merely glanced in Maxwell's direction, nodded and got back to holding down the shaking guardsman, hoping to hold him still enough to prevent any sort of self-inflicted injuries. Maxwell closed his eyes again to rest for a moment, before the doc was ready to join him. He used to have a lot of trouble sleeping back in the day, especially while he was on shore leave. It's not that he preferred the awful ship quarters or on base lodgings but there was something about the military life that soothed him and allowed him to drift into oblivion at the same time every night; like clockwork.

Maxwell sat there, resting his eyes in an in between state; not quite asleep nor fully awake but soon, a hand shook him awake from his weak slumber and he opened his eyes to see the doc standing over him. "You don't look to well Maxwell, but then again, who does in this deluge?" The doc paused and sighed wearily. "Anyhow, what'd you want to talk to me about?"

"The guys doc, how'r they doin'? I'm no doctor but they seem to be getting' worse from what I can hear."

The doc just groaned and glanced back towards the badly wounded men resting on their makeshift stretchers before facing Maxwell again. "I have no idea to be honest. Ryan and the two Ametti brothers should pull through if they don't catch pneumonia but the other three…" He paused again, a pained expression overtaking his face. Or was it disgust? "I've never seen or heard of anything like it and I have no way of stopping it. They're getting worse by the hour, Max, and sometimes it seems to me like we should, uh…" He trailed off, as if embarrassed of what he was about to suggest. "Maybe we should bind them better, Sean was reaching for me so hard this morning that I thought he was trying to strangle me. I'm… I'm not sure how _present_ they are at the moment." He stressed the word present, hinting at the fact that he was being generous in his wording; the three men were spiraling out of control, not to mention their continuously degenerating appearance. Nothing changed that fast, even a body wouldn't rot so quickly if left to the elements.

"Maxwell, never Max. The nicknames are for m'wife, doc." Maxwell retorted without looking at the doc, still staring in the direction of the wounded men. "I think we need ta put it to a vote. I might be leadin' this here band in a way but I can't and will not call the shots on who lives n' dies." He sighed heavily again and futilely wiped the rain drops from his forehead. "We can't carry them anymore doc, most people can barely put their own two feet on in front o' the other."

Surprisingly, the doc didn't seem to resist Maxwell's decision. Richard was very much a leave no man behind type of guy, having served in the army as well for a tour in Afghanistan back during Desert Storm, but this was an entirely different battlefield. Sacrifices would have to be made. "I'll round them up then, we should decide right away." Doc glanced back at Maxwell for confirmation before setting out to gather the scattered groups of people.

With that, Maxwell stood up, now too agitated to merely sit and rest and began pacing around the middle of the camp where more and more people were gathering. The rain seemed to let up a bit at least, so he wouldn't have to yell as much in order for everyone to hear him. The faces around him mostly seemed to be oblivious as to what he was rounding them up for but several faces had a spark of knowing in their eyes. Emma especially; Maxwell knew she would fight him on this since she almost lost her mind trying to resuscitate those fallen in the last fight. Francis stood beside her, that same knowing expression painting his face but with a touch of eagerness almost. That was a strange man and Maxwell wouldn't tire himself out trying to understand how his mind worked, not now when lives hung in the balance. Once everyone had gathered he raised his voice to a level that he figured everyone could hear.

"These past few days have been incredibly difficult on all o' us and I ain't gonn' lie, I doubt it's goin' to get easier anytime soon." Way to start the motivational speech Maxwell, it's a shocker they didn't make you general during your very first year in the military. "Now, we've got a big decision to make and that decision involves the lives of those three men over there." He gestured at the men on the stretchers, one of them, Boris probably, was shaking and attempting to claw at something with his bound hands. "I don't know what's wrong with 'em but I don't think they'll be makin' it for a lot longer. I propose we end it for 'em mercifully, let 'em die with some dignity while they still can, which is why I'm calling for a vote, whatever is decided here today is how it's goin' to be done. If anyone wants to speak before the vote, please do."

Maxwell paused to look around but nobody budged, not even Emma who was clutching her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white and she shook slightly, from anger most likely. "Very well, let's vote on it then, all in favor o' puttin' those brave fellas to rest raise your hand."

Nobody was enthusiastic about raising their hand in support of mercy killing but a large majority did eventually. Only a few hands remained down, mostly belonging to women who were sobbing, pained by the loss and sense of helplessness they no doubt felt, just like Maxwell did. "Very well, we have a decision, the fellas will be given their peace."

"Who's gonna do it, huh? Will it be you, hero?" That was Emma's voice, dripping with venomous anger. "Or did you plan to just leave them here to die in the cold? Do you even know how to do it properly, without them suffering?"

Maxwell was somewhat taken aback by Emma's outburst, as he had expected her to argue the decision itself, not the logistics behind the actual deed. "They were directly under my command and I will take care of it but I won't be turnin' down volunteers if there are any." He looked around to see if anyone would come forth but nobody did; he expected that nobody would jump at the opportunity to end the lives of men who fought to keep everyone alive. Even Emma stood her ground, still quivering in anger.

"I'm asking you again. How are you going to do it?" Emma said more into her chin than towards Maxwell but it was loud enough for most to hear. "You better not fuck it up."

"Cuttin' the jugular veins on the neck is painless and quick enough, I believe. We don't have the means to put 'em to sleep or anythin' like that."

"Jesus Christ, you want them to choke to death? They'd choke before they bled out; don't they teach you a goddamn thing in that killing academy of yours?" Emma fumed and stepped forward as if to take it upon herself after all, but before either her or Maxwell could react, a loud scream sounded from the doomed men, over at the side, followed by two more shortly thereafter. Everyone's faces snapped towards the source of the yelps to find Alexia rising from their twitching, bloodied corpses, wiping her knife on the pants of one of the killed men. She had stabbed the left side of their chest with a long knife, under the armpit just where it could reach the heart. It was the quickest and least painful death available in such crude circumstances and she did it with practiced precision. Nobody said a word as they watch her wipe the knife and walk past all of them, without so much as a word or glance. There wasn't much to say to the woman anyway, the fate of the sick men had already been decided and Alexia actually helped in a way by putting an early end to a tirade of bickering that was about to ensue. Maxwell wasn't happy that he was relieved of his duty towards the men but in a way, he was glad, as the killing blows would no doubt weigh on his mind even more than they would otherwise. Shaking himself back into the present and away from the cold executioner, Maxwell addressed the still gathered group loudly.

"Let's bury them as best we can and be on the way, we need to find shelter before nightfall. Move!" He spotted Joshua from the corner of his eye, trying to get his attention. The young man seemed enthusiastic which had to mean he saw something promising. Maxwell exhaled and mumbled quietly to himself. "God, I could use sum good news."


	11. Chapter 11 - The Hunt

„One foot in front of the other Francis, keep it together man, we're almost there." Francis was mumbling to himself as the band walked slowly uphill towards a strange looking rock protruding from the earth at an almost unnatural angle. The rock itself wasn't very tall, maybe thirty feet or so but it was wide enough at its base to provide cover for all of them and there were plenty of openings within it that he could see from this distance, that could serve as a resting place for a few people at a time, namely the injured ones. At least this place was strategically well positioned since it was fairly elevated, granting the sentries a decent overview of the valley around them, thought that didn't say much due to the thick forest spread out in all directions.

After another arduous ten minutes of climbing, they had finally made it under the cover of the angled rock and Francis lay down onto the damp but otherwise welcomingly dry ground that was a massive change from the past few days of being covered in rain and mud. After a moment he inspected his wounds and was pleased to see none of them had reopened, despite the lingering pain that accompanied him at all times now. He became so used to his limp that he did it automatically, even when his shattered knee didn't hurt as much. Well, it didn't seem shattered to him anymore; he could feel a solid kneecap if he squeezed hard enough to get past the swelling and ignored the piercing pain. Maybe it wasn't shattered but it definitely wasn't fine and his hip wound was no better, since it was painfully pulsating even now, while he was resting on the ground.

Francis was quite content to just lay there, his eyes closed and drift off to sleep but his empty stomach began to rebel. Hunger became his ever present companion as well, just like pain had been, since food was getting harder and harder to find. The hunters hadn't managed to spot, let alone hunt down anything larger than a few birds and the occasional fox-like creature with thick, luscious fur that served quite well as protection from the elements. Groaning, Francis propped himself up and fetched the sad looking remains of his food from the soaked pack he had been lugging around. The food wasn't in a much better condition but he was in no position to complain so he gulped down everything that remained, knowing he would have somehow conjure up his next meal on his own, without relying on the increasingly frustrated Alexia and her hunters.

The little food he had only made him hungrier, as he knew it would so he glanced over at the bow and a few arrows he had scavenged after the battle, thinking that this might be a good time to put them to good use. He wasn't much of a hunter or tracker but times were desperate and he had to start fending for himself, or at the very least, providing. With another audible groan he stood up once again, despite his entire body commanding him to rest and looked around the camp for anyone that might want to accompany him. He was hoping Alexia or one of her hunters would join in and take the reins on his desperate expedition but they were busy skinning and plucking the feathers off several birds and critters they were lucky enough to ambush in their nests within hollow tree trunks, where they hid from the rain. That prey could yield a meager meal for everyone in the camp but it certainly wouldn't fill any stomachs for good.

After deciding against bothering the moody hunters, Francis began making his way further west, away from their planned path in hopes of finding some game. The rain was relentless as always but he had grown so accustomed to the elements that it barely registered on his aching and tortured body. He walked at a normal pace, with an arrow nocked, figuring he didn't have to be overly careful about making too much noise since the rain masked all but the loudest screams. There were no tracks to be found; not that he actually knew what to look for but nothing was there nonetheless, no broken twigs, claw or horn marks on tree trunks or any sort of animal droppings. Come to think of it, Francis' sight wasn't all that great either so this pursuit of subtle clues was even more difficult without glasses. He never actually wore them since his prescription was tolerable so naturally, he didn't have them with him now; though it certainly would have been a miracle if they survived this whole ordeal if he had worn them.

Frustration was setting in the longer he walked, roughly two hours now by his loose estimate and all he managed to scrounge were some mushrooms that he had never seen, so chances were they were poisonous. He took them nonetheless and stopped to gather more from a nearby fallen tree when he noticed movement up ahead; something big was lumbering about. It was tough to see clearly but it was certainly large enough to be a bear, judging from the silhouette. His assumption was proven to be right when the animal began making sounds that were grunts of a sort, almost like a rallying cry. Wet leaves rustled behind him and he spotted two bear cubs making their way towards what was probably their mother. Great, just great! The one thing to avoid during hunting was to encounter momma bear with her cubs; even Francis knew that much from watching documentaries.

Francis froze in place, hoping the cubs wouldn't notice him or just wouldn't care but naturally, that was wishful thinking. After only a few steps the cubs noticed him and got visibly frightened, calling out for their mother in panic. "Son of a bitch!" Francis yelled out and turned to face the large female that was getting ready to charge at him. "I've seen Revenant, I know how this shit ends!"

There were roughly fifty yards between him and the female but a bear of that size could close the distance in a manner of seconds, so Francis let loose his first arrow without hesitation, hoping to slow her down enough to line up a few more shots. The arrow grazed the bear's left front leg but all that did was piss her off even more as she began her sprint, howling in rage and probably fear for her cubs. He nocked another arrow, held his breath and let loose, hitting the side of her neck this time; an excellent shot, especially for him but that wasn't going to stop the angry animal, he would have to hit her right between the eyes to achieve the desired effect. One more shot, that's all the time that he had before the female reached him so he took a deep breath, exhaled and let loose. The shot would have been on target from what he could tell but the bear was far too cunning for that, it would seem, as she stopped to duck her head down just a bit, forcing the arrow to slam into the top of her back instead. This was the end of the line.

Francis felt no fear, as he had faced worse odds before, though not entirely present within his own mind or in complete control of his actions. This train of thought alone would normally be enough to make him think he had gone insane; he wasn't the bravest sort when it came to violence and he sure as hell wasn't the type to take on a bear, but here he was, reaching for the long knife strapped to the back of his trousers, plans forming in his head and analyzing potential strategies. It was a familiar feeling, one that he had felt when reliving the vivid memory from the battle, when he took out almost a dozen darkspawn without so much as a scratch. There was no time to analyze the feeling, so he welcomed it, grasping at anything that could help him survive the encounter with this apex predator.

The enraged female lunged at him, her sharp fangs reaching for his neck, as most carnivorous animals tended to do. Waiting until the very last moment, Francis pushed himself off in the air, using the fallen log in front of him as a boost and grabbed the thick fur on the back of the bear's neck to use as a handhold. Doing a somewhat awkward half somersault, he landed on the female's back and before she could attempt to shake him off, rammed the long blade into her head, a little in front of the ear where the skull was thinner than the rest of the head. He had no idea how he had known about it but he let his reflexes guide him instead of overthinking his every move. The bear jerked wildly when the blade struck and rolled to her side, either to shake him off of her back or due to the massive injury he had just inflicted. Francis wasn't going to stick around to find out, probably getting crushed by the five hundred pound animal, so he pushed himself off as she began her roll, landing on his back a few feet away from her. He sprang back onto his feet straight away, trying to assess whether it was time to fight or run. Running was the more likely option if the animal was still in the mood to tussle as his only weapon apart from the now useless bow, was still lodged in the side of her head.

The bear trashed wildly on the floor, the pain must have been intense but in the course of a few moments her movements slowed and her groans grew quieter, as a pool of blood began spreading on the ground underneath her. "Holy fuck, I just killed a bear!" Francis said to himself frantically, adrenaline still kicking him into overdrive, despite the fact that the danger had more or less passed. He waited until the bear grew still and then carefully removed the long knife from her skull with one swift motion. "You're gonna make a great coat." He said with a grin on his face. "If only I knew how to skin you, or how to cut the good meat out of you. Christ, they didn't teach me that crap in college."

He approached the dead animal and crouched in front of her belly, thinking that was probably the best place to start cutting. He didn't really relish the idea of skinning anything but these were the wilds and he would have to adapt or die and he was in no rush to die just yet. Right before he began he hear a tussle and groans of the bear cubs behind him; they wanted to approach their mother but were afraid of him so they lingered in the back, crying out for her. "Survival of the fittest my little furry friends." Then, a though came to his mind, a very pragmatic but somewhat evil thought. "I can't carry your mom back to camp but the two of you will do."

Rain had slowed down to a mere drizzle by the time he returned to camp with two dead bear cubs tied together and lain over his back. All eyes were on him as he walked among the people and hushed comments could be heard all around but nobody addressed Francis directly. He walked over to Alexia and her group, dropping the two dead cubs at their feet. "It's not much but I figured it's better than the rodents you guys managed to catch. Just leave me a bite or two when you're done prepping them, alright?"

Alexia raised an eyebrow but remained otherwise unimpressed with his haul. "And where is the mother? I doubt she would have allowed you to just take her cubs away, they never get separated while they're this young."

"Dead as well, about two hours west from here. I don't know a damn thing about skinning or carving animals so I left her there. You are free to take your hunters there and get as much out of her as you can. I call dibs on the fur coat though."

Alexia merely glanced at the cubs again, at her hunters and then back at Francis. "We'll go get her. I need five volunteers to come with me and carry the meat, the trail should be easy enough to follow." Five women stepped forward right away and began readying their gear and armaments; they might need them if wolves get to the carcass first. "Am I to think that you dropped an angry quarter ton bear on your own? It's a bit of a stretch to believe…"

Francis smirked and ignored the two obvious jabs coming from the pale eyed brunette; even if he wasn't hungry and exhausted, Alexia wasn't someone he wanted to trade quips with. She spoke little but her twin blades did more than enough of talking when they were put to use and Francis would rather face wrestle that bear again, than have her going for his throat. "That hardly matters now, does it? The body is there and we're rather short on food so I suggest you ladies make it there before something bigger decides to make a meal out it."

Hoisting her pack over her shoulder and tying the quiver of arrows onto her left hip, Alexia gave him a final cold glance and walked off towards the west, five other hunters following shortly behind her. The remaining women got to work with skinning the cubs with practiced slices of their long, curved knives, somewhat akin to the one he was carrying. He sat down and watched, hoping to learn at least some of the basics; he would certainly need that knowledge in this wilderness. They cut from the stomach and around the legs, pulling the skin from the flesh as they cut deeper and deeper into the animal. After they were done, Francis was sure he could replicate it to a degree though he had to admit he would probably mess up a carcass or two before he managed to get it right. When they began carving the meat he joined them and carved a large piece of a hind leg for himself and nodded to the women before setting out the spot where he had stashed the rest of his belongings. Lighting a fire would be a downright miracle, even under the cover of the angling rock but every issue seemed miniscule now that he came face to face with an enraged bear and came out victorious. What's better, he was fully in control this time and even though he may not have been as graceful as he was with the darkspawn, it was more than enough to survive. Nothing else mattered.


	12. Chapter 12 - A Vision Of Hellfire

„Welcome back guys! I see you've got another successful haul today." Joshua waved at Maxwell and the incoming band of hunters cheerfully as they carried a fair sized deer and a few rabbits back into camp. Josh had been more eager to step it up since the time he froze up during the battle, probably to prove himself to that feisty nurse girl, more than anything else, but Maxwell didn't mind as long as he made himself useful. Josh was volunteering for guard duty as often as he could during the past week and unlike some, he actually stayed awake during night shifts. Maxwell smiled and patted the boy's back firmly as he walked by.

The band had been camped out around the strange, angled rock for about a week now and Maxwell had to admit, he was in no hurry to leave. The rains were still sporadic but not as bad as they were during the trip, which actually allowed them to fill up their water reserves on a fairly regular basis without having an actual source nearby. The game had been strangely plentiful too, as if all of the animal migration trails led past the angled rock. Some people have dubbed it Pride Rock, since it was somewhat similar to the famous African cliff featured in the Lion King, though it didn't have the tall, vertical part.

Everyone seemed to be in high spirits now when basic necessities were no longer a huge problem; even the heavily wounded guardsmen were doing much better, a few of them even walking around with assistance, hoping to get back on their feet as soon as possible. Yves and a few of his guys who had some experience working construction were erecting a small palisade around the portion of the camp that was directly underneath the rock. It wouldn't help a whole lot in an actual battle but any advantage they could get was welcome, should the darkspawn catch them off guard again. Maxwell was making sure that didn't happen though and organized scouting parties to fan out five to ten miles around the camp every day in search of potential threats. Those parties would also supplement Alexia's hunters sometimes, since animal sightings were growing more and more frequent these days.

All in all, Maxwell was feeling pretty good about the current state of affairs, in fact, he even took it upon himself to train anyone willing to learn in hand to hand combat. Yves and a few other guardsmen were very helpful with the training as well, taking up the unarmed portion of the training since all of them had had some sort of amateur or professional combat sport experience. Maxwell wasn't going too hard on the trainees since they still had to be careful about supplies and a tired man is a hungry man; he knew that better than anyone. They were progressing nicely, however, and appeared to be soaking up any knowledge thrown their way. There was no way to tell how well they would fare in an actual life or death situation but Maxwell still felt a lot better now that the non-combatant portion of the band was getting smaller by the day.

Peter or Pero, as he preferred to be called, was leading strength drills with five trainees a little to the side of the camp right as Maxwell was passing by. He was a burly fellow, originally from one of those Balkan countries and had been into mixed martial arts since his teen years. Appart from Yves, Pero was the only guy in the band Maxwell was rather unsure whether he could take on in a fistfight; hopefully he would never have to find out.

Just when he thought about a fistfight with one of his own, Maxwell instinctively scanned the camp for Francis but couldn't spot him right away. Francis was gone quite often, either off hunting with Alexia, training on his own further away from the camp or just plain gone. Maxwell wasn't about to start stalking the fellow but something was definitely off about the man's behavior. Besides, where could someone wander off to so frequently in this wilderness?

His scouting party came up on their designated food storage area and began unloading the daily haul, adding a solid amount of meat to the rations that would probably last the band for a little under a month. Most of it was meat so they were forced to dry or smoke a lot of it to keep it from turning foul since they didn't have access to any form of refrigeration or salt to conserve food. His wife, Leah was there, prepping a large board flank for cooking over the sizable cooking fire they always had going in the middle of the camp. She merely looked up and nodded at Maxwell when they approached, before going back to her work. That was the routine back home as well, has been for years and Maxwell found it equally funny and sad that a married couple could roll back into their regular boring rut in a bizarre situation such as this one.

"Need a hand with that, hon?" He hadn't called her _hon_ in forever but he figured that any change of pace would be a welcome one.

Leah glanced back up at him again, an amused smile on her lips but as always, it didn't touch her eyes; her eyes were always sort of dull and tired. "Hon? Should I start calling you babe now?" She reached up and patted his belly. "It would still kinda suit you even though you've lost a few pounds."

Maxwell groaned and turned to the side so his stomach was out of her reach. Leah never missed an opportunity to take a crack at his size and even though he was looking leaner now than he was in high school, she was still taking jabs at him. "I think I'll leave off the nicknames then. Say, you seen Francis 'round here? He keeps disappearin' on me and it's his turn for guard duty this evenin'".

"I don't keep track of everyone in this camp Max and no, I don't know where Francis went. I've seen him mover around the back of the rock a few times but I think he just trains there." Her tone was flat and uninterested as always which bugged Maxwell to no end as he couldn't have a proper conversation with the woman when she was so distant. Nonetheless, he just sighed and walked off without a word, figuring he may as well try and track Francis down if he was lurking somewhere in the back of the rock like Leah had said.

Nobody really went behind there very often, as there was little of interest to be found; merely a few shallow caves that stopped after a few yards and were barely large enough to fit a person to begin with. They could be used as storage eventually, should they run out of space for some reason but that wasn't likely to happen since Maxwell was planning to get a move on further north, towards the exit of the valley, when everyone felt well enough to travel and their supplies were solid. He scanned the ground for footprints when he reached the back of Pride Rock but there were none to be found. It was not exactly strange with constant rains washing off any evidence of passage and Francis being a halfway decent tracker who could hide his tracks if need be.

Maxwell felt like giving up after a ten minute search but a hunch in his gut was telling him to go on and keep snooping. With all the growth being rather low growing, there was no point in investigating further away from the rock so he focused on the tiny cave-like openings in the rock. They were all little more than cracks he could barely fit his hand in, while a few were a few yards deep. The setup of the cave-like formations was odd though, they were almost spaced out at regular intervals, as if they were man made. That made no sense though, as there would be plenty more evidence to support that claim had actual humans or those filthy darkspawn been responsible for the caves.

While his mind was wandering, Maxwell found himself in one of the deeper entry points and he felt a gust of air hit his face as he neared a crack in the rock. This one was different in the sense that the way wasn't bared by solid stone but rather, a large boulder had been set to block all passage. The boulder itself must have weighed close to a ton, way more than one man could move but perhaps Maxwell could budge it enough for it to roll off and free enough room for him to pass. He undid the straps that held his large mallet strapped to his back and began taking sideways swings at the top of the boulder, hoping to free up enough room for a decent gripping point from which he could push it off the passage.

It took some time and sweat was covering him by the time he was content with the work he had done, so he set the mallet down and began testing out different positions from which he could jar the rock away. That thing was heavy, almost ridiculously so that made Maxwell want to give up completely in lieu of how ridiculous it would be for anyone to be hiding in there. Still, his hunch was screaming at him to keep at it and he wasn't about to disregard a trusted ally that had saved his hide many times during his tours in Afghanistan. With a few strong heaves, fortified by his anger and frustration, the rock gave way, little by little, before finally succumbing to its own weight and rolling to the side to reveal a narrow passage further into the rock.

"Shoulda brought a torch of somethin'" Maxwell mumbled to himself but walked into the dark entrance nonetheless. It wouldn't hurt what's a little ways inside before coming back to fetch some light if need be. As expected, the passage was almost pitch black, with only the light from the entrance lighting his path further down. The path was angled downwards and the decline was growing steeper the longer he went on and he began fearing that he might slip and fall to his death.

"Ah screw this, I can't see a goddamn thing in 'ere." Maxwell said to himself and started to back away from whence he came when he noticed a faint light further ahead. It seemed to be a ray of daylight, most likely shining through a crack in the top part of the rock. Without hesitation, Maxwell resumed his steady walk forwards towards the light, his inquisitive side getting the best of him. The ray of light grew larger and larger the longer he walked and soon enough, he found himself in a large cavern bathed in daylight passing through an opening in the ceiling that must have been close to ten feet wide. Strange that nobody had noticed it before but then again, nobody was particularly eager to climb Pride Rock for no reason other than curiosity. It seemed unlikely that anyone could climb down from there though; they didn't have any kind of rope that was nearly strong enough to support a man, let alone a rope that was long enough for the descent.

There was a narrow path leading towards the center of the cavern with nothing but pitch black to the sides, indicating that a long fall awaited anyone unlucky enough to slip in there. He paused for a moment to listen and began hearing a faint sound of water drops hitting a larger body of water; an underground lake or river perhaps? Good to know should they ever become desperate for water. The center of the cavern was the thing that captured Maxwell's attention the most, however. There was a circular structure of sorts standing there, and it was tough to say whether it was man made or merely a construct of nature. Six sharp stones rose to a height of about seven or eight feet to form a circle; the stones themselves were irregular so it seemed unlikely they were carved by human hand but then again, they all had sharp points pointing inwards, towards the center of the circle.

Maxwell approached the circle cautiously, looking over the sides for any more paths that led elsewhere. It was a habit he had picked up in the army; always check all points of entry to avoid being outflanked or ambushed. There was nothing there though, only darkness akin to the sides of the narrow path that no doubt led to a deadly fall. Upon closer inspection, Maxwell noticed that the ground had been somewhat disturbed in the center and crusted remnants of some sort of liquid were visible in the dirt. He couldn't tell what it was but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't anything pleasant; blood most likely. What's worse, the closer he got to the center, the more he was feeling some sort of presence, like something had been watching him. Perhaps watching wasn't the best way to describe it, the presence was strong but it was gone now, only leaving a trail of its residence behind, like a bad smell.

Maxwell chuckled at himself and decided to chalk it up to his paranoia, hell, it wouldn't have been the first time for him to feel like something was off. War will do that to a man. Slowly, he walked to the center of the circle and sat down onto his knees to inspect the place. The few dried droplets of liquid on the ground were difficult to identify but he was almost positive it was blood; to whom the blood belonged to was a different story though. The air was heavy and damp like most underground caverns tended to be and the chill fitting a place mostly devoid of sunlight was starting to set in on Maxwell, despite the heavy bear fur cloak he was wearing. It wasn't just the cold though, the entire place had an unnatural feeling about it; the cavern walls echoed in expectation of… something.

Following his hunch, Maxwell placed his hand down on the blood splattered dirt in the center of the circle and closed his eyes. He had his usual nightmares often enough now that he could recognize the suffocating emotion that came with it and he was definitely feeling it now. There was nothing but darkness at first, darkness to mirror the deep pit surrounding the stone circle he was standing on. Then he started to hear them, whispers from all directions speaking in languages he had never heard; they seemed angry. It was almost as the cavern walls registered events that took place in the past and spewed them back to anyone sitting in that circle, willing to listen. None of it made sense, of course but Maxwell kept listening in hopes he would see something of worth, even if he couldn't understand it.

The longer he stayed there, concentrating, the louder and angrier the voices became. Some of them sounded like battle cries or wild chants sung at a primitive ritual but the anger was a constant in all of them. Slowly, that same anger seeped into Maxwell's subconscious and he started feeling the hatred, understanding the hidden motives behind things that had transpired here. These emotions of rage replaced any verbal or visual communication he would need to make sense out of it all and that familiar red mist from his nightmare began forming on the edges of his vision.

Not wanting to go down the rabbit hole any longer, Maxwell opened his eyes suddenly, gasping for air as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. The sight around him wasn't the one he expected to find, however. He was standing at the edge of the stone circle, wearing a strange scaled armor that seemed to be of a ceremonial sort and clutched a long, curved dagger in his right hand. Around the circle stood five more figures, all donning the same type of armor but with different hues and they all had a unique weapon in their hands. In the middle lay an unconscious man with intricate symbols written on the ground around him and on his skin; the symbols were written in blood, the man's own blood judging from the numerous cuts which riddled his body. The man seemed to be alive and his chest moved up and down in a slow, pained rhythm but it was obvious what his purpose was in that circle. Human sacrifice.

Maxwell stepped forward and felt his mouth open, ready to utter the chant the ritual demanded but no words came out. The entire room was in dead silence despite the fact that the other five figures were repeating the chant back to him when he finished. There seemed to be a total of six verses before everything came to a halt and he stopped chanting, only to step towards the wounded man, clutch the long dagger with both hands and run it into his heart with all his strength. Maxwell's ears hurt as a wild scream echoed around the cavern, the first sound he had heard from the very beginning of the ritual. It echoed the anger boiling in his heart but it was stronger, much stronger.

He felt an invisible force slam into him, setting him flying to the edge of the precipice along with the other five figures and the body of the now dead man burst into flames, melting before his very eyes. From the fiery liquid a form started to rise; first the head, glowing like molten lava, followed by long, clawed hands that propped the creature up to its full height. It towered over them drastically but made no other moves except to turn and observe the six men around it.

The creature then spoke, even though no mouth was visible on the huge fiery mass and a gust of scalding hot air hit Maxwell's face. "The ritual is complete and I am here. Who among you holds so much rage in your hearts to bear the might of…?" The creature wasn't speaking in a familiar language but the rage oozing from it seemed to convey the true message. The creature's name, however, remained inaudible.

Maxwell proudly stepped forward towards the creature, reciting what felt like a long list of accomplishments that would somehow deem the man worthy of the demon's grace. It was a demon, Maxwell knew that now, despite his refusal to believe anything like that truly existed. Upon finishing his speech, Maxwell grew silent and bowed down on all fours in front of the demon, pleading for it to accept their sacrifice and no doubt, grant them power. The demon glanced around the circle once more and a deep bellowing laughter pierced Maxwell's ear once again.

"You are not worthy little man. It's not your actions that grant you access to my power; only true rage and hatred in your heart can sustain me and you are severely lacking." Maxwell's eyes shot up towards the demon, as he prepared to plead his case once more, to beg if need be but it was too late. One by one the men that had followed him throughout the ritual burst into flames and as his final moment neared, Maxwell knew the truth. He wasn't worthy but there would be a time when one worthy enough would come and the world would burn.

Gasping for air once again, Maxwell came to his senses, his true senses this time and jumped to his feet with an overwhelming urge to leave this place behind. That air of expectation was even stronger now and it propelled him to run even faster, throwing caution to the wind as he made his way upwards towards the narrow exit from whence he came from.

Barreling through the exit and into the warm sunlight, Maxwell collapsed on the ground, heaving heavily, as if he had run for days, not mere minutes. His entire body was shaking from both pain and the memory of pain wrought by demonic flames. He steadied himself for a moment and walked back towards the camp determined to leave this place behind for good. That sense of dread anticipation followed him outside, like a persistent predator and he knew they would have to move right away or face something far more terrible than the darkspawn.

"Seen a ghost, have you Maxie?"

Maxwell spun around to find Francis sitting on a fallen log with his sword sitting on his lap. He appeared to be drenched in sweat, from his solitary practice session, no doubt.

"None of yer goddamn business what I'd seen!" Mxwell lashed out with far more ferocity than he had intended; he would have to control himself to convince the people to leave such a great spot on his hunch alone. Not the vision, he wouldn't mention the vision lest they all think he had gone crazy. "Get yer stuff and prepare to move. We're leaving as soon as everyone's ready."

Francis merely cocked an eyebrow and made no move to so much as stand up. "I heard you talk in your sleep, you know? I think the whole camp has since you've obviously been having nightmares for a long time now. You feeling ok, big man?"

"I'm _fine_! Now stop asking dumb questions and get ready ta move or we're leavin' ya!" Francis' nightmare comment had struck too close to home for Maxwell and besides, he didn't exactly need additional reasons to hate the man.

"Sir, yes sir!" Francis said mockingly, making a faux salute while still sitting on the log.

Maxwell nodded and walked over towards the center of camp, steadying himself to relay his message that would get everyone to agree that leaving was the best course of action. He didn't care if he had to lie or bully them into it, he just needed to be away from that damn cavern that was mocking his efforts even know, well above ground.


End file.
